


Off Script

by elle_reads



Series: Off Script [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Situational Depression, Celebrities, Dirty Talk, Disassociation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, Musicians, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, POV Rey (Star Wars), Panic Attacks, Past Character Death - Han Solo, Praise Kink, Rock Stars, Safe if Triggered by Pregnancy, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Social Media, Subsequent Tags Contain Mild Plot Spoilers, Therapy, Vaginal Sex, referenced child abuse/neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 68
Words: 89,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_reads/pseuds/elle_reads
Summary: She's a singer, not an actress, but Rey's not worried about going off-script when the storyline is this simple: pretend to date another musician, benefit from the social media buzz, and “break up” after their albums drop. How hard can it be?(in which the author absconds with halsey’s discography)notabandoned, but my work situation recently changed and I’m now working 100+ hours a week — I promise I’ll finish these last two chapters for you — target is December. Sorry, and thank you! ❤️





	1. flashbacks waking me up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieitsmee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieitsmee/gifts).

> This work has been beta'd by the talented [EquusGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl); I'm more grateful than I can begin to express for the gift of her time, care, and friendship!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter contains references to past abandonment, neglect, and physical abuse of a child, as well as bullying. To skip these, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume at the second set of asterisks. The endnotes contain a factual summary of what you'll skip over. I don't intend to make these topics a focus of this work, and I'll always warn in the (rare) instances when they come up.
> 
> Relatedly, if you ever spot a missing tag, cw, or tw, please don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> **Britishisms:** (of which there will be very, very few)
> 
> _Flat:_ apartment
> 
> _Secondary school:_ Students begin attending secondary school at age 11 (Year 7) and remain there through age 16 (Year 11). For U.S. readers, this is the equivalent of grades 6 through 10.

Ideally, Rey wouldn’t be having an existential crisis as she’s about to be interviewed on a late-night chat show. She’s ruminating over her choices or, more accurately, the comforting delusion that she wasn’t making them, and this, at least, is a familiar obsession.

There have been many — far too many — situations where she thought the better choice was so clear that she didn’t think to weigh her options until the time to do so had long past. But instead of learning her lesson, she makes the same mistake, again and again. Like a bitten cheek, swollen, is more likely, not less, to be reinjured. And she can’t resist prodding the sore spot, even though she knows it will make the hurt worse. 

***

When Rey thinks about choice, she thinks about four-year-old Rey, throat ragged from hours of crying, deciding to drink water from the toilet so she could hold out a little longer before she had to ask a neighbor for help; after all, she just needed to wait a few more minutes — mummy said she’d be right back.

She thinks about seven-year-old Rey, driving away the foster parents who packed her lunch, checked her homework, and gave her a pretty pink bedroom all to herself, never thinking to hide that they wanted to adopt her; why didn’t anyone understand that her mother promised to come back, and how did they think she’d be able to find her daughter if Rey had someone else’s last name?

She thinks about 11-year-old Rey, entering the hellhole that is secondary school, not yet knowing that she would endure endless harassment over her greasy hair, holey shoes, and grimy, tattered, ill-fitting clothes without lifting a finger, even as her tiny body vibrated with fury, because it only took one altercation to learn that fighting meant suspension, and suspension meant missing Mr. Tekka's music class, and nothing was worth that, was it?

She thinks about 14-year-old Rey, making do with toilet paper because even though there was no way her foster father knew about the second-hand guitar she kept at her friend Finn's — a parting gift from Mr. Tekka — when Unkar caught her taking money for sanitary pads, it’s like he knew exactly what would hurt her the worst because the bruises he left on her wrist kept her from playing for the next two weeks.

***

She thinks about 16-year-old Rey, convincing Finn, yet again, that it wasn’t worth saying anything to her social worker because, with Rey’s luck, the next placement would’ve been worse — and besides, she had Finn and a chorus teacher who gave her every solo in every recital.

And, of course, she thinks about 21-year-old Rey. After the song she recorded on Finn’s laptop went viral, Poe Dameron, her label’s Head of PR, proposed that she pretend to date another artist to keep the buzz going while she recorded her first album, and the choice was so obvious, she’d made her decision before Poe had finished asking the question.

As she waits for her cue to walk on stage, there’s one thought she tries to avoid — that of all these choices she didn’t think twice about, the fallout from agreeing to Poe’s proposal eight months ago might be the hardest thing she’s ever forced herself to endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** If you skipped the middle bit, in this chapter, Rey thinks about being left unattended at a very young age and the neglect and physical abuse she experienced in her foster placements. Her focus is on the decisions she made in each of those situations — the fact that often the alternative felt so dire that it didn't seem like she had any other options; her choice didn't seem like much of a choice at all.


	2. it's just pretend

**January 4, 2019 (Eight Months Earlier)**

Her first single is doing better than she could have hoped for, better than even Finn, whose optimism about her career knows almost no bounds, predicted, even if it hasn’t made the jump to commercial radio. She’s working on tracks for her first proper album, but it’s still early days; the release date they’re targeting seems at once a lifetime from now and like it’s racing towards her at lightspeed. She feels good about how things are going — working with Resistance Records is a dream come true — but commercial success is nowhere near guaranteed. 

Thanks to her advance, Rey doesn’t have to worry about putting groceries in priority order on the conveyor belt when she’s checking out. She can, theoretically, pay her bills without triple checking the balance in her checking account before doing so, although she isn’t sure she’ll ever actually be able to do that. It’s more than she’s ever had — but not enough to feel safe, not enough to calm the pit of fear she feels whenever she thinks about having to pay back that advance, about how much more she’s going to owe the label for recording and promoting the album. Of course she wants the album to do well enough to justify going on an extended tour, but she’s heard people toss around figures, and the costs associated with touring are astronomical. If she allows herself to think about the stakes for more than a moment, anxiety churns like acid in her stomach.

So it’s no surprise that it takes Poe longer to spit out his proposal for increasing her public profile than it does for her to agree to it; she’d do a hell of a lot more than pretend to date a willing accomplice to ensure her success. Speculation over celebrity relationships — even a practical nobody like her, provided she’s paired with someone with a decent fanbase — will provide content for the always-rabid gossip sites, and she’ll take any help she can get to build interest in her and her music.

She’s always been ruthlessly practical. Sitting in Poe’s office, she quizzes him on how the arrangement will work, confirms that he’s already secured the other artist’s agreement, and gets Leia’s address. She and her co-conspirator will be meeting at their studio head’s home in two days to ensure they’re compatible, though Rey doesn’t have any concerns; she’s certain anyone Poe thinks she can successfully pretend to date will be someone she can stand to hold hands with, hug, and perhaps kiss on the cheek, and they can explain away the lack of further intimacy as being averse to PDA.

Slipping her phone into her bag, Rey realizes she’s actually feeling eager about this. She knows she couldn’t be working any harder on the album than she already is without risking her voice — Luke isn’t exactly the warmest of producers, and even he had gruffly assured her earlier that morning that she’s doing everything she needs to be — but she’s used to running herself ragged, and it feels good to have something else she to do to increase her chances of success. She feels a surge of appreciation for Poe; she knows it’s his job to develop PR strategies for Resistance artists, but in Rey’s experience, just because someone is supposed to help you, it doesn’t mean they’ll actually do so.

She pauses in collecting her things to give him her full attention; he deserves to know she’s sincere. “Poe, I really appreciate this; I think it will be great. Is there anything you need from me before I leave?”

Poe gives her a megawatt smile. “No, Reybie, but I’m pretty sure there’s something you need from me.” 

Rey racks her brain and feels her forehead crinkle. Unable to think of anything, she shrugs her shoulders and gives him a questioning look. 

“The name of the person you’re about to fall in love with, perhaps?” Poe asks with a laugh.

This, it turned out, is what it takes to embarrass Rey — not that she has no qualms about jumping into a fake relationship, but that she so clearly doesn’t care with whom. But Rey’s always survived on her wits, and she recovers quickly. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Poe? I’m looking forward to being surprised by my mystery date!”


	3. no one has to know what we do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Britishisms:**
> 
> _Arse:_ Ass

**January 6, 2019**

When Rey’s five minutes away from Leia’s, she gets a text with the gate code and instructions to let herself in through the side door. It’s an unknown number and Rey thinks, at first, that it must be from Leia’s assistant, but when she re-reads it at a stoplight, it’s clear that Leia sent the message herself. Rey’s been enjoying her drive, even as the Malibu mansions on either side of the road grow increasingly more ostentatious. The fact that she’s headed to what is effectively a strategy meeting to plan a massive con hasn’t troubled her in the least. But when she realizes Leia thinks of her as someone it’s normal to text, to share her gate code with, even, Rey feels like the worst kind of fraud. She isn’t sure why the text has left her feeling so off-balance, but she’s never had the luxury of allowing feelings to get in the way of facts. When the light turns green, Rey swallows down the lump in her throat and follows her phone’s directions to Leia’s. The facts, after all, haven’t changed: this fake relationship is a good thing for her career. Nothing is guaranteed, and she’s going to do everything in her power to never to go without again. She’ll have food, she’ll have shelter, she’ll be seen, she’ll _matter_. 

She pulls up to Leia’s, enters the code, and pulls through the gates, and when she sees what’s waiting for her, she feels incredibly grateful that Finn talked her into leasing a new car as her single indulgence. The metallic black Porsche 911 she ever-so-carefully pulls alongside certainly doesn’t belong to Poe; it looks like he hasn’t arrived yet. With the Porsche’s top down, it’s instinctual for Rey to clock the options, and by her rough maths, she figures it came in around ten times the cost of the Subaru BRZ she drives now — and when she made a financial commitment to a $30,000 car, she genuinely felt as though she might have a cardiac event. Finn was right, though; in this new world, the anxiety of having a monthly payment for the BRZ is outweighed by the embarrassment she’d feel driving anything less…well, _less_. Rey firmly instructs herself to quit salivating over the Speedster — although the red accents wouldn’t have been her choice, the Porsche is inarguably a beautiful machine — and she heads to the mansion’s side door, per Leia’s instructions. 

She is woefully unprepared for what greets her — though perhaps it’s not accurate to describe it as a greeting, because Leia and her guest clearly aren’t aware of Rey’s presence. They’re sitting at a kitchen table, and by his tone of voice, the dark-haired man is less than happy. He sounds as though he’s gritting the words out when he says, “Remind me why I let you talk me into this?”

“Benjamin,” Leia says, sounding incredibly put-upon, “we have been over this. You’ve been incredibly successful, but as a member of a group, not as a solo artist. People don’t know your name. You need to get it out there, and this is the way to do it.”

He must slant her a look — who _is_ this guy? — because Leia quickly amends her statement. 

“Alright, it’s not _the_ way to do it, but it is _a_ way to do it,” — whoever he is, Leia must want to calm him down, because her voice is soothing — “and it’s better than starting fights or getting arrested or whatever harebrained scheme your old agent would have come up with.” 

“I suppose it never occurred to you that my plan might have been to just make good music?” 

He couldn’t sound more condescending if he tried. But when Leia replies, it’s clear she’s not nearly as offended as Rey is on her boss’ behalf; if anything, Leia seems exasperated, as if the man insulting her — the man who’s so tall he makes the kitchen chair look doll-sized — is nothing more than a cranky toddler.

“Ben, we are not doing this. Not again,” Leia says firmly, before seeming to shrink in her chair. “You have to know by now that I believe in you. In your music. But you and I both know that success isn’t just about the music.” Leia sighs, shaking her head. “What is this really about? Poe said you wanted this. I wouldn’t have let him ask Rey if I knew you were having second thoughts.”

Even from her position in the doorframe, Rey can see this was the wrong thing for Leia to say, though she has no idea why. ‘Ben’ explodes out of his seat.

“Oh, now I get it!” If he thinks that by not shouting, he’ll be mistaken for calm, he’s sadly mistaken; he doesn’t need to raise his voice to telegraph his anger, and it’s clear he’s absolutely seething now. “This is why you’re actually worried. If I pull out, we’ll upset Rey! Couldn’t risk toppling her storied career of…what was it, a few million views on YouTube and a song on the Emerging Artists Chart? I suppose I better lie back and think of Resistance Records, hadn’t I, mother?” 

Rey is so furious she cannot think. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Well, shit. She had sort of meant that both figuratively and literally, but the last word out of his mouth made his identity very clear. Leia has exactly one child, and it’s Benjamin Organa Solo, formerly with the Knights of Ren, a multi-platinum group that dominated the charts until they broke up a while back. Apparently, Ben is about to embark on a solo career. But seriously, who the fuck does he think he is?

She would almost swear he’s blushing, chagrined, but then, he continues in the same sarcastic tone he was just giving his mother. “The girl I’ve heard so much about. Miss Rey of Sunshine herself. I think I’m falling for you already.”

Leia growls, actually growls at him. “Dammit, Ben. I know you were raised better than that because I was there.”

He whips his head towards her, and is he trembling? It is as if he is so filled with rage that he is shaking to contain it, waiting for it to burst from his skin.

“Wait! Wait! I’m sorry!” Leia shouts, then, quietly, hands raised like she’s trying to placate a wild animal, “I’m sorry. I take it back. That wasn’t fair of me.” 

Honestly, what the fuck is going on here? Rey was furious moments ago, but her anger has nothing on Ben’s and there’s clearly a conversation going on that she isn’t a part of.

Leia’s next request is directed at both of them, but she keeps her eyes on Ben, as though he might charge if she glances away for even a moment. “Can we just…can we just take five and try this again?”

Rey doesn’t know what to expect, but Ben’s sulky “fine” before he huffs off to somewhere else in Leia’s enormous home isn’t it. The room seems infinitely larger without his presence. 

“So…” Leia tries for a weak smile, “that was Ben.” And Rey doesn’t mean to laugh. She certainly doesn’t mean to start cackling, but once she starts, she can’t stop, and it must be contagious, thankfully, because Leia joins in.

Leia has finally calmed down and Rey is wiping tears from her eyes, still smiling broadly, when Ben returns. Rey decides to let the giddy tide of emotion carry her through and extends her hand, along with her biggest smile. 

“Hi, Ben. I’m Rey, the YouTube Nobody you’re about to fall in lust with. Great to meet you.” 

Poe’s walking in as she makes her introduction, and though she’s sure he knows her bright tone is fake, he still gives her an approving wink.

Ben shakes her hand, which she’s going to count as a win, but seems to choke when he processes her words. 

“Lust? Uh…I’m pretty sure the script calls for love.”

“Sorry, Ben, I don’t do love,” she says with a shrug, “and while I think I’ll make an okay actress, I know I’m not _that_ good. Lust, at least, I can fake.”

Ben looks around, she suspects for someone to rescue him, but Leia is sidling out of the room, and if he’s looking for help from Poe, he’s out of luck.

“I think that’s great, actually,” Poe says. “We don’t want to risk a situation where one of you looks like the villain when you break up. It’ll be easier for everyone to get out cleanly if the relationship doesn’t seem too serious.” 

Poe gives Rey an approving look, and she isn’t smirking exactly, but she’s definitely smiling in a self-satisfied way that Ben probably hates. But then, he hated her before he even met her, so it doesn’t bother Rey too much.

“So the plan is for us to go to a few places where we know photographers hang out and get papped, right?” Rey asks. Poe nods and she continues, “I’m thinking we can probably get a lot of mileage out of thirst-tweeting each other. It will help us build the story outside of photos and interviews and PR statements, and, more importantly, it will get people following our accounts, so by the time our albums drop, we’ll have built up our follower counts.” 

A Cheshire cat smile lights up Poe’s face and even Ben seems interested now that she’s reminded everyone of why they’re doing this.

“Rey, you devious genius!” Poe exclaims, “I fucking love it. Although you’re making me think we should tweak the timeline. We should have you photographed in group settings first, then I’ll send you on outings that could be platonic like…I don’t know, a hike or something, I’ll think it over…then we’ll plant leaks to the press that you’re more than friends, let you flirt on social media to fuel the speculation further, and only then escalate to what are clearly dates!” 

His enthusiasm might be contagious if it didn’t feel vaguely terrifying.

Poe’s plotting doesn’t seem to hold Ben’s focus like Rey’s Twitter scheme did, but he immediately has a question. 

“So no kissing or” — he’s working his jaw so fiercely, it’s like he’s trying to chew the sentence out — “or whatever, for a while then?”

“Correct,” Poe confirms with a smile, “I won’t need you two to kiss for PR reasons for a while.” Poe puts a weird emphasis on ‘for PR reasons,’ but she’s happy to ignore that.

“Good, good. That makes things,” — Ben glances at her — “easier.”

This is not as easy to ignore, and Rey makes an internal note to get a whiteboard so she can keep track of how long it’s been since she’s wanted to throttle one of her co-conspirators. With Ben among their number, she suspects the counter will get reset frequently.

She’s just met him, but she would bet that going out of his way to make it clear that he loathes the idea of kissing her is a classic Ben Solo Move™. He could hardly even get the words out. _No kissing or whatever_. What an absolute arse. Well, he can have a taste of his own medicine.

“Yup!” she chimes in. “Makes things _much_ easier.”

Poe gives her a skeptical look, and yeah, on reflection, that probably wasn’t terrifically believable. Ben might not have the conventional sort of looks that would get him named a gossip rag’s “Man of the Year,” but to suggest he’s not appealing is, frankly, ridiculous. 

Ben must not buy it either or — and this is probably more likely — he simply doesn’t care about her opinion, because his response is a deadpan “Super.” Without raising his voice one decibel, he says, “Mom, I know you’re listening to everything we’re saying, so how about you come back in the room so we can open the curtains on this comedy of errors?”

Leia enters without a hint of shame at being caught out, but Rey doesn’t have time to question their odd dynamic. Is Ben proposing they begin immediately? 

“Wait,” she asks, “are you proposing we start now? Right now?”

She was asking Ben, but Poe’s the one who answers. “Ben’s right. No reason not to have your #meetcute today.” He says the words “meet-cute,” like a normal human being, but somehow, she hears the hashtag. How does Poe do that? Rey exchanges a look with Leia, and she’s fairly certain Leia’s eyebrows say, _‘That_ is the difference between a wannabe influencer and a real life PR professional.’ Rey might be misinterpreting Leia’s eyebrows though. She was promised brunch and hasn’t been fed yet, which means everything she thinks and does should be taken with a grain of salt (which should be in a salt shaker, on a table with brunch foods, which she should be eating). Ben’s expression at hearing the phrase ‘meet cute’ suggests he still calls a hashtag a pound sign, though, which cheers her up.

Poe continues unaware — or more likely very aware — of the silent conversations happening around him. “Leia, I’ll post the photo from your account with a caption about how you’re so happy you got to introduce two of your favorite people to each other and you’re looking forward to spending more time together. Ben and Rey, once it’s up, you both say something complimentary about each other and follow the other person’s account. I’m gonna go find a good spot on the patio to take the photo. We’ll pretend you came over for brunch.”

“But I did come over for brunch,” Rey says to herself. She’s trying not to pout, but she’s genuinely hungry, and that’s not a state of being she’s comfortable with. Louder, she says, “Right, I get all that, but I didn’t even put on makeup.” She understands their reasoning for taking the #meetcute photo now (even when she says it in her head, she can’t pull off Poe’s delivery), but Rey hadn’t exactly planned on appearing in front of Leia’s millions of followers when she got ready today.

Ben rolls his eyes and she would be pissed off, except for his next words. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re already stunning.” She doesn’t know how to respond to that, but Ben obviously misinterprets her silence. “I mean, if you’re not comfortable, we can do it another time…it would be easier to do it now, but it’s not like anyone can make you if you—”

She cuts off his rambling. “No, you’re right, it makes sense to do it now.” 

Rey has the presence of mind to know she needs to make her escape before she says something she’ll regret. In a matter of minutes, a man whose face she’d grown up seeing on the front of _Tiger Beat_ has gone from mocking her to calling her stunning and then gone back to insulting her. He doesn’t need to treat her like she’s a fool for not seeing that it’s more efficient to get the photograph taken now when they’re already together, and after today, she certainly doesn’t want to see him any more often than she has to; she just wasn’t prepared for photos. If anyone’s acting like a child, it’s him, but she’s determined to be the bigger person.

“I’ll just check on your mom and meet you outside, then?”

“Yeah, yup, sounds good.”

Poe posts the photo from Leia’s Instagram account with a slightly different caption than the one he’d told them he was going to use (“I realized we should keep the timeline ambiguous. We'll let people wonder whether it’s your first time meeting!”) and Rey’s follower count climbs. Poe had worked some magic on the photo and she looks better than she usually does with a full stomach and a face of makeup. The photo gets 5,000 likes in the first hour, and Rey feels a thrill when she sees Ben’s comment: “TheRealBOS @reyofsunshine lives up to her name. May have to make more frequent appearances at Sunday brunch if this is the company @leiaorgana keeps.” It’s not because she thinks he’s sincere; she was there when Poe told him to say something complimentary and she followed the same instructions, after all. That undercurrent of electricity comes because she can’t do this without him, and his comment is proof that he’s in — they’re really doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What is _Tiger Beat_?**
> 
> It's a magazine marketed to pre-teen and younger teenage girls that primarily covers teen idol gossip, and contains articles on movies, music, and fashion. From 1965 to 2018, it was circulated in print; now it is available digitally. 
> 
> For U.S. readers, it's very similar to _Teen Beat_, but is more widely available in the U.K. (thank you @meggrimsmo!). It has a greater focus on celebrities than _Seventeen_ does, but it is marketed to a similar age group.


	4. follow you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** In this chapter, Rey briefly wonders if a stalker has gained access to her personal information. That isn’t the case, and it’s resolved within one paragraph. No stalking occurs in this story.

**January 7, 2019**

When she wakes the next morning, light is pouring through her windows; her alarm should have gone off at least an hour ago. The phone hiding under her pillow confirms her suspicions; she must have fallen asleep looking at Instagram, and her rubbish phone died overnight. She _should_ replace it, but, technically, it still works. She plugs it in with a sigh and powers it up to find odd texts from an unknown number.

Is this her first stalker? The messages are pretty benign, but perhaps that’s how it starts. She gets all the way to “Are you sure you want to block this number?” before she gives in to her curiosity. Her number is unlisted and the bill for their family plan is under Finn’s name. How on earth had someone found her? The response to her query is immediate, and the identity of her mystery texter becomes clear.

Super. So she's starting the day by oversleeping and being lectured by none other than Ben Solo. She probably should have been able to guess it was him, because who else would be texting her out of the blue to pressure her about her social media use? If he’d used a semicolon in his first text, she would have known it was him from the beginning — he’s exactly that sort of person — but she’s genuinely surprised Ben’s reached out so soon. And although she’s definitely irritated by his tone, his texts give her a little bit of reassurance, too; he’s clearly taking this seriously. It's not just that he checked — as soon as he woke up, she suspects — to see if she followed him; it's that, even annoyed with her, he's still being careful about how he refers to their fake relationship in writing. They’d agreed if they ever need to discuss it in public, they’ll call it ‘collaborating.’ With the risk of hackers on the hunt for nudes or sexts, it’s smart of Ben to be cautious in texts, too. She appreciates it enough to look past his rudeness, for now.

He doesn’t respond, and she supposes it does sound a little harsh. It’s hard to figure out how to word the reassurance she wants to give.

How does he convey so much judgment in only seven characters? Whatever. She doesn’t need him to like her or to agree with her. She just needs him to cooperate, and right now, they need to plan their next step. Except she can’t figure out how to do that without putting things in writing that she shouldn’t. She calls the number she’s just added to her contacts. He picks up immediately.

“I hate when I text and the person calls, but I thought we should probably plan what to do next, and I didn’t know how to do that by text without leaving evidence.”

“It’s fine, I’m not doing anything right now. I hate texting anyway.” 

She can imagine someone who uses semicolons in their messages doesn’t appreciate the convenient shorthand of texts. 

“Did you have something in mind?” he asks.

She doesn’t, but after throwing some ideas out, they decide that tomorrow he’ll subscribe to her YouTube channel and like her videos. She has a sinking feeling when she realizes what’s coming next, but she can’t figure out a way to avoid it.

“And you’ll just do the same?” It’s phrased as a question, but Ben’s expectations are clear.

“Right. About that. I sort of— well, you know…it’s just that, er….” She braces herself and rushes the rest out in a single breath. “I’m already subscribed to you and I liked all of your videos when they came out, so that’s not really an option.” The words run together, but she is _not_ repeating herself, so he’ll just have to piece together her meaning. He’d better not tease her about it — she was a teenage girl, it shouldn’t be a surprise that she liked KOR, they led the charts because _everyone_ liked their music — but his next suggestion eases the embarrassment she’s been telling herself she doesn’t feel.

“Okay, then, tell me if this is too much, but what if you covered one of my songs for your Thursday recording?”

She’d started her #ThirtySecondThursdays covers at the end of middle school, when, hearing about the woman who had to pay a six-figure fine for downloading songs from Napster, Rey decided, for once in her life, to play it safe. She limited her covers to thirty seconds and put a fair use disclaimer in the description. When she explained this to Resistance Records’ general counsel, Gwen Phasma, the woman laughed in her face. Turns out Rey, like most of the general public, was badly misinformed about copyright law, but Phaz had blessed the continuance of #ThirtySecondThursday covers with some minor changes. Now Rey puts a link to the original work in her video’s description and the ad revenue goes to the Save the Music Foundation, so according to Phaz, “anyone who tries to object would lose in a court of law, but more importantly, we'd crush them in the court of public opinion.”

Rey’s not quite sure how she feels about Ben having listened to her clips and liking them enough to want her to cover his work. It’s a good feeling but…not what she expected from him. In what is becoming a pattern, he misinterprets her silence and starts backtracking.

“If you hate it, just say so,” he says sharply. “It’s not as if it’ll hurt my feelings — I hate most of our music, too.” His temper flares so quickly.

“This may shock you, Ben, but I was a teenage girl, and like nearly every teenage girl in the English-speaking world, I loved your stuff growing up — which I _just_ told you. I don’t hate the idea, so you can relax. I just needed a second to think.”

He’s obviously not placated. “No, it’s a terrible idea. There’s not enough time to choose something, work out an arrangement, and get it recorded.” He huffs angrily. “Why can’t you just follow me back?”

She ignores his question. “Since you’ve never seen me record one of these and you have no idea what my process is like, how about you just trust me when I say that I can get it done in time, Ben?” she bites out. 

She’d thought they were getting somewhere, but now she’s as irritated with him as ever. Is he always going to be pushing her buttons like this?

“Fine, if you say so,” he sulks. What a baby. “In that case, you’ll need my help.”

“Excuse me? What are you trying to say?” She’s been just fine on her own, thank you very much.

“I just meant that we put out a shit ton of music. So unless you already have something in mind, I can help you narrow down your choices to something that will work for you.”

Oh. That would be really helpful, actually. “Okay, yeah, that would be good.”

He continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Although you do need a teacher. You’re too tense and it’s hurting your breath control. You’re good enough to get away with it in a controlled environment, but you’re going to be in trouble when you’re exhausted from weeks of touring and you have to sing while you’re moving around a stage.”

She’s torn. On the one hand, how fucking dare he criticize her singing. He’s never even seen her perform.

But on the other, ‘you're good enough’ is probably one of the nicest things he's said to anyone all week. And he said ‘when’. When she’s done weeks of shows. Not if. She hasn’t even started recording her album yet, but Ben’s talking about her performing show after show as if it’s a done deal. As if it’s a certainty she’s going to do well enough to justify it. 

While she’s figuring out whether the outright criticism outweighs the implicit compliment — it does, she decides, so now she needs to figure out exactly how pissed off she is — Ben moves on. He’s meeting with Poe at 11 AM to discuss the release of his single later this month, but afterward, he can pick up lunch for the two of them and come to her flat. As much as she’d like to yell at him for being so rude, she doesn’t want to distract him from getting her order right, so she makes him repeat her sandwich preferences back to her twice and then ends the call.

Despite having plenty of advance notice, she feels unprepared when Ben texts a few hours later to let her know he’s arrived. It’s strange to have him in her flat. Her manager had helped them find it, and the complex does technically meet Finn’s requirement that they choose somewhere with gated access — his faith in her future superstardom is unshakeable — and their shared desire that it not be _too _far from where they work, but it is, in Rey’s opinion, obscenely big. How she and Finn are supposed to fill 900 square feet, Rey’s still not sure. But somehow, Ben manages to make their space seem small. It’s like the ceilings drop a few inches, the walls draw in, and the few pieces of furniture they’ve purchased shrink. She knows her flat isn’t too small. He’s just too big.

Still, having him over goes better than she anticipated; it probably helps that her expectations were low. He has useful advice on narrowing down the Knights’ enormous discography — she’s reluctantly impressed by how much music they churned out in the decade or so they were together — to a song selection that will play to her strengths, and he’s complimentary, flattering even, about her rendition once she starts to work through it. This, along with his retweet of the cover when she posts it Thursday, is almost enough to make the patronizing advice he seems unable to restrain himself from bestowing on her tolerable. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fun fact:** As of October 2019 (when this chapter was posted), Taylor Swift had 84M+ followers on Twitter and 122M+ on Instagram, and she wasn't following a single soul. Tay's approach seems to be working out for her.
> 
> Onto a music industry footnote; unnecessary reading unless you're interested in copyright law!
> 
> **Can Rey really post thirty-second covers of other people's music without getting permission in advance / paying them?**
> 
> One of the first things attorneys learn when they begin practicing is that there is often a difference between how the following questions are answered: (1) Is it legal to do X? and (2) Are there likely to be any consequences if someone does X?
> 
> Rey used to use a 'fair use disclaimer', which Phasma tells her is nonsense; if you're interested, this explainer provided by YouTube is a fairly decent guide to how the fair use doctrine works in the U.S.. The gist is that there is a four-pronged test which is applied by a judge on a case-by-case basis to determine whether the use of the copyrighted work is infringing.
> 
> Before Phasma had money from the clips diverted to a non-profit (Prong 1: whether the use is for commercial or non-profit, educational purposes) and directed Rey to link back to the original commercial work (Prong 4: effect of use on the market for the copyrighted work), the only thing Rey had going for her were arguably the length of her covers (Prong 3: amount / substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work) and that they wouldn't undercut the market for the original work, because no one would listen to a 30-second cover as a replacement for purchasing or streaming the original, complete song (Prong 4 again).
> 
> Even after the changes, there's no getting around Prong 2 (nature of the copyrighted work — factual record or work of fiction / creative work), because songs are, by their very nature, creative works. It would also be easy for an attorney to argue that even though revenues from YouTube clicks aren't going into Rey's pockets, there's still commercial intent behind Rey's covers; she's signed with a major label, and she's making these covers to increase her profile. Finally, even though they're only thirty seconds, at least some of those covers likely include the chorus of the song, meaning that they're a substantial part of the copyrighted work, and in any case, those thirty seconds are likely to be about one-sixth of the length copyrighted work, which isn't insignificant.
> 
> This is where risk of enforcement comes in; Phasma's genius lies in directing the revenue generated from the covers (which wouldn't be enormous at this point; YouTubers get fractions of a penny for each view) to a well-liked non-profit. It would look pretty terrible if a songwriter (or someone to whom the songwriting copyright was sold) were to challenge Rey's use, demanding that she turn over money that was used to buy instruments for underprivileged kids. Of course, it's not like that money would be taken away from the kids, but Phasma could certainly work with her PR team to make it sound that way. It's highly likely the case that anyone who has the money to sue her over the minuscule profits from her covers is likely famous enough to not want the bad press.
> 
> While there are organizations that work on behalf of artists to get allegedly-infringing videos taken off of YouTube (and YouTube is extremely deferential to their reports), they typically go after much clearer violations.


	5. tangled up with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a video embedded in a tweet. If you click it, the video — a thirty-second cover — will play. The cover is performed by Halsey; all of Rey's performances in this fic will be taken from Halsey's, and Rey's career trajectory is also loosely based on Halsey's. Credit/blame for that goes to KTF_Reylo; her incredible fic [Hold Me Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718981) got me addicted to Halsey's music. In case you're curious, Ben's performances will be taken from Hozier's — though it will be a couple of chapters before we hear from him.
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video. The lyrics are also included at the end of the chapter.

**January 10, 2019 **

Rey can't keep the pleased smile off her face as she watches the metrics tick up on Ben's post, and she and Finn trade giddy text messages — careful, of course, to refer only to how well the 'collaboration' is being received. 

  
  


According to Poe, however, their strategy is too effective. In fact, his exact words are, “Great job. Now tone it the fuck down.” One of Ben’s fans painstakingly combed through their social media history to collect receipts — a term Ben not only refuses to use but scowls at every time someone else does. The person logged every public interaction she and Ben have ever had, every connection between them, and when and where they might have possibly met before seeing each other at Leia’s. 

Apparently, it’s a slow week in celebrity gossip, because one of the less scrupulous, and therefore more popular, entertainment news sites runs a piece on it under the ridiculous headline “Solo No More?” with quotes from unnamed, and likely fictional, sources gushing about their blossoming ‘romance.’

Poe grumbles about needing to do damage control; he reminds them with a scowl that they’re supposed to be capitalizing on the ‘will they or won’t they?’ tension, not diving into a confirmed relationship. He plans a group hike for Sunday to shift the narrative back into ‘just friends’ territory and somehow cons a motley group of their friends and people associated with the label into attending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday (from Halsey’s cover of the Jonas Brothers’ “Sucker”):**
> 
> I'm a sucker for you  
You say the word and I'll go anywhere blindly  
I'm a sucker for you, yeah  
Any road you take, you know that you'll find me  
I'm a sucker for all the subliminal things  
No one knows about you (about you) about you (about you)
> 
> If you prefer to play the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0IoBErLBcI); to listen to Halsey’s full cover, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpNx05pUkN0).
> 
> And if you hadn’t guessed already, the song choice this chapter might have given it away — like the Jonas Brothers, the Knights of Ren were a boy band. Sorry? You're welcome?


	6. he's so tall

**January 13, 2019**

As soon as Rey pulls up to their designated meet-up spot Sunday afternoon, she hops out of her car, nearly forgetting her water bottle in her hurry. If nothing else, this hike is a chance to finally meet Rose Tico in person. 

It’s not as if there are loads of highly-qualified session musicians vying to lay down the guitar tracks for her album; Rose’s enthusiastic acceptance of the offer had been incredibly flattering, especially considering how highly recommended she came. Approaching the group, Rey feels a flurry of butterflies. Their brief meeting via FaceTime had gone well, but this woman is going to play a significant role on the album — hopefully today’s hike will put some of the butterflies to rest. As she approaches the group, she smiles to herself; the fact that Rose and Finn are huddled together, talking animatedly, is a promising sign.

Ben seems to share her good mood. He smiles at her, and even though he’s infuriating, she can admit he could knock anyone who finds men attractive off their feet. 

She shouldn’t be surprised that he immediately ruins it by opening his mouth. 

“You know, Rey, if you focus on keeping your chest and throat relaxed, this hike could be great practice for improving your breath control.”

The ‘hike’ Poe’s planned for them is a gentle uphill walk. Admittedly, there is no possible way Ben could know that she regularly sings on her morning runs (she read that Beyonce did it growing up), but he _should_ respect her enough to know that she could run up and back this trail carrying Rose, singing “God Save the Queen” without losing her breath. She does _not_ have an issue with breath control. She does, however, have an issue with this conceited arsehole who refuses to accept that he’s _not_ her teacher. She’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt — maybe the air’s just thin when you’re 6 foot something tall, so it’s harder for him to process information like _Rey isn’t interested in my opinion_ — but he’s looking at her like he expects her to thank him for talking down to her, like he’s hoping she’ll come running over to beg for more morsels of wisdom, and she just barely manages to bite back the retort she wants to spit out.

Poe gives her a questioning look as she stomps over to where Finn and Rose are standing, which doesn’t feel fair; she’d thought her heroic sacrifice in the interest of conflict de-escalation would be obvious to all right-thinking people. Finn, at least, has an appropriate reaction when she repeats Ben’s insult under her breath; her best friend looks as though he’d like to take a few swings at the other man. She’s determined to enjoy the afternoon, though. It turns out to be easier to do so than she expects, mostly thanks to Rose's company.

When she sees how the candid group shot turned out, it gets even better, and she types out a caption with no small amount of glee. She’s seen the way Ben hunches down in a crowd. It’s a total waste in her opinion; her type is very much limited to men who could bench press her, but Ben’s clearly self-conscious about his size. Poe gives the post a thumbs up, and when Ben sees it on his feed, his scowl is the sweetest revenge. He thinks she needs to improve her control? Well, she might not be the social media mastermind that Poe is, but she can still run laps around Ben, and she feels pretty great about her control over today’s messaging.

The following week is easier because, at Poe’s direction, it’s relatively Ben-free. Phasma somehow got Finn an H1-B visa; listening to her case for why Finn has ‘specialized knowledge and work experience equivalent to a bachelor’s degree that suits him for the position’ as a marketing rep, even Rey had been convinced — despite knowing his expertise starts and ends with hyping Rey to anyone who cares to listen (and plenty of people who’d rather not). As a result, every person tagged in the hiking photo is associated with the label in one way or another, down to Ben’s stylist Hux, and Ben’s stans interpret the photo exactly as Poe intends. Clearly, Rey and Ben are just friends who know each other through their work for Resistance Records. It makes sense that they’d promote each other’s work, his most possessive fans reassure themselves.

They rock the boat, though, by liking photos of each other that have nothing to do with their music. Rey’s been a prolific user of Instagram for years, so Ben has plenty to choose from; when he does a deep dive into her back catalog, it sets tongues wagging. When he starts posting a lot more photos of himself than usual, his fans are endlessly grateful that he’s ending the content drought, but there’s a definite faction that is certain that he’s only doing it to get Rey’s attention. They’re split on whether to be grateful to her or jealous.

There’s increasing chatter about them, and Finn's report of their social media metrics continue to show the dividends. She gets an odd text from Ben — “…I guess you don’t think they’re as funny as I do” — and discovers he’s been DMing her his favorite tweets about them. He gets annoyed again at her no following rule when she explains that she has hundreds, maybe thousands, of unread messages, because it’s too much of a pain to filter out the ones from people she doesn’t actually know, but when she starts texting her favorite tweets to him, he responds. It becomes something they do; they don’t add much commentary, always careful what they put in writing, but it’s her ideal level of interaction with Ben. It’s good to focus on their common goal, and since she doesn’t have to listen to him talk, she can almost start to forget how condescending and obnoxious he can be. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes you should feel free to ignore unless you’re interested in careers in the recording industry and/or U.S. visa categories!
> 
> **What does Finn do as a marketing rep?**
> 
> As a marketing rep for a large record label, he’s responsible for the social media presence of his assigned artists (he’ll be expected to help with other artists unless he’s assigned to an artist whose profile is big enough to demand his attention full-time). As head of Publicity, Poe is his ultimate boss, but he has an intermediary manager who supervises him and other marketing reps. As the most junior member of a team in a collaborative environment like Resistance Records, and with a close relationship with an up-and-coming artist, he can expect a lot of support from his colleagues while he’s learning the ropes.
> 
> His role as a marketing rep is distinct from that of a publicist, who handles PR crises, writes the artist’s bio and press releases, has promotional photos taken, creates media press kits, and schedules print interviews and TV appearances, as well as from a promotion manager, who’s responsible for getting radio airplay. A major label like Resistance will also have separate tour publicists who set up appearances in the places the act will be touring through and, for their bigger acts, travel with the performers to make sure the appearances run smoothly.
> 
> **Why does Finn need a visa, and what was that specialty stuff Phasma talking about?**
> 
> As a British citizen, Finn needs a visa to stay in the U.S. for longer than 90 days, and a tourist (also known as a B-2) visa would only permit a stay of up to six months. The H-1B visa allows U.S. employers to temporarily employ foreign workers for three years, with an extension available to six years. However, H-1B visas are only available to those who have a four-year college degree or equivalent and who will perform a job that requires that degree, and U.S. Customs and Immigration Services (USCIS) must consider the job a “specialty occupation”: one that requires a degree and/or specialized knowledge and work experience equivalent to a bachelor’s degree.
> 
> Phasma secures an H-1B visa for Finn by arguing that his development of Rey’s overall brand and especially her social media presence before she was signed provided him with the specialized knowledge and (uncompensated) work experience that suits him to the role of marketing rep at a level equivalent (or superior) to what he would have received if he obtained a degree.
> 
> **In that case, wouldn't Rey need a visa?**
> 
> Oh, Reader, you beautiful, talented, brilliant, powerful musk ox, you're so right! Unlike Finn, she isn’t eligible for an H-1B visa, because USCIS doesn’t consider being a musician a “specialty occupation" (sorry, musicians). However, there’s a special visa category for “artists of extraordinary ability”: the O-1B. Getting a major award, like a Grammy or VMA, would establish an artist's 'extraordinary ability' without any further questions from USCIS, but there are plenty of artists, like Rey, who are granted these visas without that level of recognition. In Rey's case, it helped that when Phasma submitted the visa application on her behalf, Rey had already appeared on Billboard's emerging artist chart, racked up a million+ hits on her original song, and signed with a major record label in the U.S. The O-1B visa application also requires opinions, usually in the form of letters, from experts in the field of music, regarding the applicant's 'extraordinary ability'; that’s where Phasma’s drafting skills and Leia and Poe’s contacts came in handy. The initial length of an O-1 visa is three years, and it can be indefinitely renewed in one- to three-year increments, so apologies to anyone hoping for a green card marriage twist!
> 
> **But what about a green card marriage if Rey wanted or needed to become a U.S. citizen for #reasons?**
> 
> Sorry again! If our girl makes it big, she’ll be eligible for citizenship on the basis of "extraordinary ability" (which she already demonstrated to secure the O-1B visa) + commercial success + the fact that having her as a citizen would “enhance American culture.” As a bribe for rooting for Rey’s success despite the lack of a green card marriage on the horizon, can I offer a rec for orichan’s brilliant WIP [A Programmer's Guide to Love (and Work Visa)?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834168/chapters/46965490)


	7. handsome as hell

**January 21, 2019**

When Ben’s first single as a solo artist drops, Rey's timeline is flooded with images of him. Following Poe’s directions to keep people guessing, they back off from the prior week's liking spree. Rey acknowledges Ben's new single by retweeting the label’s post about it, rather than his, and although she uploads a video to her Instagram story of her dancing along to the song, she takes it while she's with Finn and Poe at an event put on by Resistance Records.

  


She’s addicted to the single from the moment she first hears it, and while it’s a relief that enjoying Ben's music, at least, is something she doesn’t have to fake, she finds herself hoping no one will discover just how much time she's spending with Ben's voice in her ears.

For the next week, the only social media interactions she and Ben have are related to his music. A few of his die-hard stans obsess over these moves, and just like they’d hoped, they see it as proof Rey and Ben's interactions are nothing more than those of one friend supporting another. It's nice to be back in Poe's good graces.

She and Ben keep exchanging their favorite stan tweets via text, and although he’s made a couple of token protests in the week since their hike that it’s a tedious way to send tweets (when he complains that she should just ‘slide into his DMs’ like a normal person, Rey knows immediately that he (1) learned that expression from Poe and (2) is completely unaware of its implications), he hasn't repeated anything about her needing a teacher, so his annoyingly handsome face is, frustratingly, looking more handsome than annoying to her. For now, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Ben's single (from Hozier’s “Almost (Sweet Music)”):**
> 
> I wouldn't know where to start  
Sweet music playing in the dark  
Be still, my foolish heart  
Don't ruin this on me
> 
> To view **Rey's Instagram story** (and listen to a clip of Ben's first single, performed by Hozier) in a separate window, click here; to listen to the full song, click here.


	8. so bad, but he does it so well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an embedded video. If you click it, the video will play without opening a new window. **Note**: The embedded video will not display properly if you are using your own workskin or if you selected "Hide Creator's Style", and it won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video. The lyrics are included at the end of the chapter.

** January 31, 2019**

In the last week of January, Rey’s #ThirtySecondThursday post sets off a flurry of commentary that is all the more satisfying because Ben had been convinced no one would associate the song with him.

  
  


The discussion seems fairly evenly split. One of the first responses was a link to Ben’s episode on MTV Cribs — which Rey is shocked to learn is still airing — with the caption, “Hmm, who does @ReyofSunshine know who has an in-home recording studio?” Of course, the @MTVCribs account — seriously, she could have sworn that show went off the air years ago — had retweeted it, so speculation that she's been spending time at Ben's house is getting attention. But at least half of the commenters think that if there was a relationship between her and Ben, the cover is indisputable proof that Rey is fed up with him.

Technically, both narratives are true; after coming over to help her with the cover of his song, Ben had offered her use of his studio, and even though he was incredibly rude about it — insulting her equipment, her flat, and every cover she’d recorded to date in the process — Rey wasn’t going to let her pride get in the way of making use of a setup that was probably worth more than she’d earned in her lifetime, advance included. But she’s also absolutely at the end of her rope with his condescending attitude, and that frustration might have inspired the artistic license she took with the lyrics this week. It's just that she would never put up with Ben if there wasn’t an incentive. Really, she can't understand how _anyone_ tolerates him, but a vocal group of commenters has taken it upon themselves to declare that even if Ben is as conceited as her lyrics suggest, he has every right to be. Still, she can find the silver lining, even in comments from people disparaging her because they believe she broke up with Ben and was a fool to do so; after all, at least they find it believable that someone like Rey — a penniless unknown, compared to Ben — still wouldn’t put up with him, and some people are even more strongly in her corner. Reading comments from those people delights her.

Ben is less amused, as is Poe, who pulls them both into his office within hours of her post.

“Goddamn, I thought I was thirsty, but they’re putting me to shame.” Poe’s thirst rivals a desert wanderer’s and he is impossible to shame. Rey didn’t realize he even knew the word ‘shame’. 

“They’re watching you two like hawks. I think we’re going to have to accelerate the timeline. The Cribs stuff is great — I could kiss — ” he checks Rey’s timeline for the commenter’s name, but Ben provides the information before Poe can find it.

“It’s at Katie it’s mee. It’s always at Katie it’s mee,” Ben supplies, sounding put upon. Rey doesn’t bother trying to hold back her amused snort. Ben does realize that the whole reason they’re doing this is to build an enthusiastic, even obsessive, fan base, right?

“Right, Katieitsmee.” Poe's words might suggest he's merely agreeing with Ben, but in doing so, their PR Head somehow manages to convey that Ben’s embarrassing himself by pronouncing the @ symbol. 

She has to bite back a snicker: normal people Google things; it’s far too easy to imagine asking Ben a question and having him tell her — scowling, of course — to www.google.com it. She glances at him and it’s just as she expected; he’s as oblivious to Poe’s correction as he is to her distracted thoughts. Maybe if he www.netflix.com and chilled, he’d be less uptight — not that she’s volunteering to join him in that endeavor. Certainly, he has a big ego, and admittedly, the parts of his body she can see are equally big, but that’s not a guarantee that he’s big _everywhere _– and even if he is, it doesn’t matter, because– 

Poe heaves a sigh and moves on. “Well, I could kiss Katieitsmee for making the connection and digging up that old Cribs footage, but not everyone is so enthusiastic. We can’t have people thinking Ben’s conceited” — it’s a struggle for Rey not to roll her eyes at that; are they going to wage a campaign against people thinking the sky is blue next? — “but we also can't have people thinking that Rey is just bitter because Ben’s figured out he's too good for her.”

Wait, what? “No one’s saying that about me!”

Poe doesn’t seem to want to meet her eyes. “Oh. Um, about that.” He reminds her of a guilty child, reluctant to accept that no amount of stalling will change the fact that, eventually, he’ll have to come clean. “Well, uh, our filters are pretty good at keeping that stuff off your feed, but yeah, Reybie, some people definitely _are_ saying that.”

Oh. Right. When Rey had started at the label, Poe’s team had worked some magic to shield her public-facing accounts from the worst of the internet. She’d had certain terms muted before she came to Resistance — you didn’t need to be massively famous to be harassed on the internet — but Poe’s team operates on an entirely different level. Even though she’s only been with the label for a short time, Rey can’t imagine going back to the cesspool of body-shaming, slut-shaming, harassing, threatening, and generally boundary-crossing content that she knows is out there.

Using the Dameron Deescalation Voice™ she’s only ever heard deployed on Ben, Poe continues. “It’s fine, though, this should be an easy fix. We’ll just accelerate the timeline.” He sounds increasingly more relaxed as he lays out his strategy, which is ironic because Rey feels the opposite. “Y’know, make sure you’re seen together a lot, casual touches where the cameras can see it, and in a few weeks, no one will remember the ‘is he conceited or is she bitter’ narrative,” he says with a smile Rey’s sure is meant to be reassuring.

Shit. Her not-so-subtle dig at Ben’s smug superiority has backfired spectacularly. 

Ben chimes in. “Good. I think that's a great plan.” 

Of course, he does. Most of the time, Ben doesn’t even seem to be aware that other people are, well, _people_, much less that they might have opinions. The only exception is when it comes to their opinion of him — then, he’s not only aware that other people have opinions, he has an all-consuming need to control what those people's opinions are — even if the people in question are nobodies on the Internet. 

It’s an impulse Rey can’t understand. Sure, she wants the biggest fanbase she can get, but only because that translates to money in her bank account. Even as ambitious as she is, she's not deluded enough to think she'll convert everyone into a fan, but the thought doesn't really bother her. It’s nothing new for Rey to not be liked, but Ben probably can't remember a time when he wasn't the subject of adoration. Maybe it shouldn't surprise her that he doesn’t have the tolerance for being disliked that she does.

She’s not a fan of, as Poe calls it, ‘accelerating the timeline’ — like it’s some military operation — but she agrees to it anyway. She’s committed to this fake relationship — more committed than she’s been to any real romantic relationship she’s ever had — so she’s going to do whatever she needs to do. Still, they’re not even a month into it yet, and already, she’s dreading what’s to come. 

She checks her phone on her way out of Poe’s office and Finn, as he often does, puts a smile back on her face without even trying.

Tension leaks out of her muscles as she grins down at the photo of them. She’s so lucky to have him, so lucky that since he’s technically in charge of her social media strategy, Poe’d been quick to sign off on bringing Finn into the con. It’s not as if she could have hoped to keep a secret this big from her best (and only) friend; even if she’d tried, he would have seen through it in a moment. 

Leaving the building, she pauses to find her sunglasses. The day is bright, but cool for LA, and the memory of Finn’s reaction to her news does more to warm her than the weak winter sun. He’d laughed, told her she was ridiculous, and then asked how he could help. It’s Finn's way; he faithfully retweets every cover she posts — the same way he has since she started doing them years ago — he shows up to every one of her gigs, and he moved to LA to join her the moment Phasma had given him the all-clear. He’d told her there was nothing keeping him in England without her there, and she gets that, but still, he’d moved his whole life for her. It’s an easy thing, in comparison, to pretend to date a self-absorbed prat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday:**
> 
> You're so conceited, you  
said you don't love me,  
what does it matter if you lie to me?  
And I don't regret it, but I still can't sleep  
so don't you tell me that you're sorry  
'cause I know you did it purposely
> 
> I know when you're around 'cause I know the sounds,  
I know the sound of your heart  
Yeah, I know when you're around 'cause I know the sounds  
I know the sound of your heart
> 
> (Delightfully, Halsey really did riff on The 1975's lyrics when she performed her cover; under her revised lyrics, the singer is more sympathetic, while the 'you' is less so, than in the original — at least in my reading)
> 
> If you prefer to play Halsey’s cover in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/jH1YbPaBT1U); to listen to the full song, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YIznx_ek98M).
> 
> **What is MTV Cribs?**
> 
> MTV Cribs, also known as Cribs, is a documentary (ish) TV program that tours the homes of celebrities. It began airing in 2000, when Rey was a toddler and Ben was in elementary school, and initially ran through 2010; many of these episodes are still available on the show’s [website](http://www.mtv.com/shows/mtv-cribs). One of the most popular episodes was Season 4's tour of Mariah Carey's NYC penthouse, which aired in 2002. In 2017, the show was rebooted as a Snapchat series.
> 
> **Doesn't Poe have better things to do than micro-manage these two?**
> 
> He definitely has other things he should be doing; as Head of PR, he's ultimately responsible for all of the people (including outside vendors) doing publicity and promotional work for Resistance artists. He'll be brought in on all of the sensitive issues, as well as whenever there's a conflict, or potential conflict, between departments, which can come up fairly often. As an example, to plan and execute a PR campaign for a tour, Poe's team would need to work with other people within and outside of Resistance, to, among other things, determine when and where the concerts are happening, so that the press materials provide the correct information; how much tickets will sell for, since that will influence the marketing campaign; what merchandise will be offered on tour, if PR campaign will include any merchandise tie-ins; and what the artist's personal calendar looks like, because they don't want to pursue an opportunity to appear at an event on a day the artist is planning to take off. PR for one artist's tour could lead to Poe needing to put out fires with Sales, Merchandising, the artist, their manager, their tour manager, Legal, or worst of all, Accounting. Dealing with Ben and Rey is more of a passion project for Poe; supervising individual social media posts in a non-crisis situation is way below his pay grade, but it's a nice break from the less-interesting things he's accidentally gotten himself promoted into handling.


	9. meet me

**February 6, 2019**

This overpriced cafe wouldn’t be her first choice for lunch, but, admittedly, it has one of the nicer patios in the city — and more importantly, nothing to obstruct the shots of the photographer she and Ben are pretending not to notice. She doesn’t even have to fake a smile; just knowing that their plan is working is enough to have one tugging at her lips, especially since Ben’s been easier to deal with lately — and the fact that he’s ordered champagne suggests he’s in a good mood, too.

Maybe her subtle shading of him in last week’s cover gave him the motivation he needed to get his head out of his arse; he was certainly on his best behavior when, under Poe’s orders, they’d gotten lunch together last week. Since then, grabbing a mid-day meal together has become a near-daily habit, and it’s been surprisingly…not-awful. All her interactions with Ben really ought to be paired with food; things always seem to go better when she’s not hungry, and Ben has less opportunity to annoy her when his mouth is full — although that line of thinking is slightly dangerous. There are ways he could occupy those plush lips that she really shouldn’t spend time thinking about…. 

It’s probably for the best that he can’t seem but help to press her buttons every other interaction; otherwise, she’d be wishing he was pressing a different type of button. He’s just so built; it makes her feel delicate in a way she’s not used to, having had to look out for herself for so long. Then there’s that air of broodiness that could really work for him, if only he weren’t actually so irritatingly broody. Since they aren’t really dating — since she couldn’t stand it if they were really dating — it’s incredibly frustrating that these thoughts have started plaguing her ever since he started acting like a decent human in the last week.

They mostly talk about the industry during these lunches. It’s what she spends most of her time thinking about, anyway, and Ben doesn’t object; it doesn’t seem like he had time to develop any other interests in the last decade. They’re careful in how they frame their conversations, always aware that someone could be, and likely is, listening in, but she still learns a lot from him. It’s obvious how much Ben loves thinking of himself as her teacher, but he really does have so much more experience in the industry, so she puts up with it as best she can — and being irritated with him does help rid her of any inappropriate thoughts about her partner-in-crime, so she’s not as inclined to shut his patronizing down as she otherwise would be.

The reason they’re drinking bubbly, she eventually learns from his toast, is that it’s their one-month ‘anniversary’. Ben asks if she’ll celebrate by following him back so he won’t have to keep texting her all the tweets he wants to share with her. It’s clear that he’s teasing, not annoyed with her, though, so she doesn’t feel bad when she tells him his DMs are destined to languish, unread, forever.

Time has both flown and dragged since that charged meeting at Leia’s when they officially kicked this off, and she’s quietly amused that he’s kept track. It seems as good a time as any to ask the question that she hasn’t been able to get out of her head.

“Not that I’m not glad you agreed to ‘collaborate’ with me,” and she knows he hears the air quotes in her voice, “but can I ask why? I mean, you’re already famous. I know your new sound is pretty different from the Knights, but still…” she trails off.

“I made a mistake.” Her offense must show on her face. “Not in agreeing to ‘collaborate’,” he clarifies, voice urgent. He leans into her, but his voice is so low that she still has to strain to hear him; her body drifts towards his. “I meant I made a mistake when I signed my last contract. I…you’ve probably noticed that I have a strained relationship with my mom. It’s even worse with my uncle, but at least we can be civil now.”

If Ben thinks how things are now is civil, she shudders to think of what it must have been like before. With his uncle producing her album, it had been a point of contention between them, until she icily informed Ben he wasn’t to say another word about Luke to her — and still, Ben’s never explained why, exactly, he hates the man so much. He won’t even voluntarily be in the same room as his uncle.

Ben shakes himself, as if he’s trying to physically dispel thoughts of his uncle. He’s so close his arm brushes against hers. “Anyway, I let my emotions get the best of me.” He gives a wry smile. At least he recognizes she won’t find that part of his explanation surprising. “So foolishly, I didn’t get input from my family, or anyone else, when I re-signed with First Order at 18, and I agreed to a contract that, among other things, gave the label ownership of the name Kylo Ren. Plus, I have to pay out $50K every time I use my old name or the band’s name in public, or I appear on a show or in an article that does it, so I have to choose between asking people not to mention that I’m ‘Ben Solo, formerly of the Knights of Ren,’ or letting it go and accepting that it’s going to cost me a fortune.”

Oh shit. At some point, her jaw must have dropped open; she snaps it shut with a start, but Ben’s already seen her shock. It’s just— the Knights were huge, but everyone except their most obsessed fans knows them by their stage names.

“Yeah. I was a fool.” He huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I took a quick payout in exchange for name recognition that I can never get back. It’s not quite starting at the bottom, but I did make things a hell of a lot harder on myself than I needed to. I should have seen it for what it was: a way to chain me to First Order” — he spits the words out — “but like I said, I was a fool.” 

He really, really was, but even as condescending as he’s been to her, she can’t take any pleasure in it. This is just…awful. 

“But I’m done being foolish. I refuse to let them win,” he says with quiet resolution.

She knows enough about First Order to steer clear of them, but at this moment, she wouldn’t bet against Ben. Or more accurately, against the two of them, which brings up another point. She bites her lip, hesitating, but— she wants to be sure.

“You really think collaborating with me is going to help with that?”

He relaxes back into his seat, his voice no longer hushed. “Absolutely.” 

And there’s that smile again. 

It’s the sort of smile that derails her train of thought, sends it careening off into thoughts of whether deep brown eyes can sparkle — they shouldn’t be able to, right? — and how the mere motion of his lips, the tightening of his cheeks, can make him look years younger in an instant.

It’s the sort of smile that comes closer to distracting her than Rey would like to admit, but she didn’t get to where she is by being easily satisfied. 

“You didn’t seem convinced at Leia’s.” She needs to know what changed.

She’s not sure whether he runs his fingers through his hair because it’s actually bothering him or because it gives him an excuse to shift in his seat and turn more fully towards her. For better or worse, his gaze has always felt intense, but with only inches between them, the effect is magnified.

“I didn’t know you then, Rey. I think we can be great together.” 

Oh. They still don’t know each other now, not really, but if she had to guess, she’d say he looks…hopeful? Maybe even a little nervous? But whatever he’s feeling, it certainly seems like he’s trying to make this work. She can try, too. 

“Good. I think so, too.” Because she does. She doesn’t think he needs her, at least not in the way he seems to think; he’s Justin Timberlake material, not JC Chasez, but maybe what he needs is someone to remind him that he’s not at First Order anymore, and he doesn’t have to prove himself to everyone. Not everyone is out to get him; there are people in his life now who already believe in him.

There are also people who believe in the two of them, it turns out; the photographer gets a shot of them when Ben was leaning into her, champagne on the table, and their focus intent on one another. Someone makes the connection between the date on Leia’s Instagram post and their ‘date’ and it sets off speculation — correct, in a way — that they started dating in January and, adorably, were celebrating their anniversary. 

Poe has Ben practice his answer to the questions they know he’ll be asked at every single interview he’ll be doing to promote his single over the next month: “Rey’s an amazing woman, and I’m glad to know her, but I try to keep my professional and personal lives separate. I’d love to talk more about my upcoming album.” Of course, the way it’s worded only fans the flames, but after all, that’s the point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Could a record label really enforce a penalty like the one Ben described?**
> 
> Unfortunately for Ben, yes. It’s legal for Ben to not use the name Kylo Ren or make reference to First Order, and it’s legal for him to make it a condition of appearing on a show or agreeing to an interview that those names not be used by the host/author either. Since it’s legal for him to do these things, it’s legal for Ben and FO to enter into a contract where he agrees to those conditions in exchange for receiving something of value — here, money.
> 
> In situations where it would be difficult for a court to put a dollar figure on the damages caused by a party violating a contract, known as a breach, the parties can agree in advance on what the penalty will be. These are called 'liquidated damages'. If the liquidated damages provision was something absurd (for example, if Ben was required to pay $5M each time he used his former stage name), a court could strike down the provision as unconscionable. In this case, FO has a pretty solid argument that the damages provision is reasonable; if Ben promotes himself as ‘formerly with the Knights of Ren,’ he’s taking advantage of a lot of time, effort, and money that FO invested in KOR, and there’s a chance that fans of KOR and Kylo Ren may decide to listen to and purchase Ben Solo’s new album instead of continuing to listen to KOR and purchasing more KOR merchandise. 
> 
> To be clear, FO can’t collect liquidated damages every time someone refers to Ben as ‘formerly with the Knights of Ren’; they can only do so when Ben has some control over the person. So Ben wouldn’t owe anything if a radio station refers him as 'the artist formerly known as Kylo Ren' every single time they mention him, as long as they didn’t refer to him that way during their interview of him.


	10. your eyes on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Britishisms:**
> 
> _Car park: _Parking lot

**February 10, 2019 **

Rey honestly doesn’t mean to be suggestive. Her mind keeps skipping to where she’ll be in a few short hours; no matter what happens, even if everything falls apart, after tonight, she will have gone to the Grammys. Sure, she’ll be in the cheap seats — metaphorically speaking, and thank god the label is covering the cost — but still, it’s the Grammys. She’s going to be breathing the same air as people she’s grown up idolizing. The anxious energy coursing through her veins had her up before her alarm, but at least it’s finally time to head to Rose’s. Her nerves ease at the thought; she’d been hesitant, at first, to accept the invitation — she’s never had someone to get ready with before, never had an event like this to get ready _for_, but Rose had made the offer like it was nothing. The idea of having someone to share this experience with makes it feel more manageable, somehow.

The event looms so large in her consciousness that when she sends the text, it doesn’t cross her mind that Ben might not know what she’s talking about. When she receives his reply, she nearly wrecks her damn car.

She’s a decent human being, so as soon as she gets to Rose’s complex and parks, she forwards the messages to Rose.

Rose’s reply, a string of gibberish in all caps, comes through immediately.

Her own “IKR?!” isn’t much more composed, but she does get it together long enough to let Rose know she’ll head up after she calls Ben. He picks up immediately, and even if she hadn’t just received a photo of him in bed, she’d be able to tell from his voice that he’d only recently woken up; it’s even rougher than usual with the remnants of sleep heavy on his throat.

“Ben, did you really just send me a half-dressed photo?!” 

“Well, we’re not at the stage where we’re sending full nudes yet, are we?” 

She can hear the smirk in his voice. This is a more playful Ben than she’s ever known — being rested must put him in a good mood. 

“If I’m wrong, just say the word, Rey,” he continues, the barely suppressed amusement in his tone telling her he’s finding this far too entertaining. “Or, you know, send the photo.” 

“Ben!” Her shriek startles a woman walking through Rose’s car park, but she can barely spare the passing woman any attention. Ben is either very well-rested, or someone else is listening in. Maybe Hux is already there to help him get ready? Well, Hux can think she’s a prude if he wants to. Even if she and Ben were really together, her shocked response would have been the same; Ben’s being outrageous on purpose.

He chuckles. “Kidding. I was just trying to play defense in case our texts ever leak. It’s not like anyone would believe you’re with me for my sparkling personality.”

Admittedly, Ben isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but he has been trying lately, and hearing him disparage himself so casually makes her uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat, the leather sticking to the backs of her legs, but before she can figure out what to say, he continues.

“Besides, Rey, you’re the one who asked what I was wearing.”

“I meant for the Grammys, obviously!” she says with a laugh. “Relatedly, how are you still in bed?”

“It doesn’t start for another” — she hears him yawn and shuffle around, reaching for a clock or watch, she imagines — “five-plus hours.”

“But we’re meant to be in our seats by 4:15! And you know traffic will be awful, and we have to account for security.” Her fingers skip back and forth along the stitches of the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

He laughs. “Rey, it’ll be fine. We’re not presenting, we’re not performing, we’re not nominated.”

Someday, though, a quiet voice in her head whispers. She takes a deep breath and forces her hand to still on the steering wheel.

Ben continues, unaware of her inner monologue. “And anyway, 4:15 is a lie. I’m planning to get there around 5:30. Arnie and his people aren’t coming over ‘til two, so I just gotta eat, shower, and shave between now and then. Pretty sure I can handle that in the next two hours.”

“That’s so unfair. My alarm went off at six.” He doesn’t need to know she was up well before that. Even if she’d been able to sleep in, she couldn't have, not without having to skip her morning run or risk being late to Rose’s. “Anyway, I didn’t text you so you could make me jealous.”

“Jealous, huh? Something in that photo you want, Rey?” he asks, teasing again.

This side of him might take some getting used to, but it’s far preferable to the overcompensating Ben she first met, or the self-deprecating Ben she’s starting to see more often. Still, she’s not going to risk straying over the line into flirting; he’s marginally more tolerable now, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to fall into his lap, shirtless photo notwithstanding. Ben could have his pick of any number of women, and he’s made it clear from the beginning that he doesn’t think much of her. That’s probably why she detects some uncertainty beneath his joke — he must be anxious she’ll read too much into this. She’s quick to make it clear that’s not an issue.

“Of course there’s something I want in that photo, Ben. I can see the sheen of your sheets from the screen. Your thread count must be astronomical. Who wouldn’t be jealous of those linens?” she asks, deadpan.

He laughs at her delivery, and, well, knowing that his laugh sounds just a little different before he’s fully woken for the day is not quite as distracting as knowing what he looks like shirtless in his bed, but it’s still information that she already regrets having. She fiddles with the air conditioning vent. Hopefully he’ll lecture her about breath control soon; then she won’t have deal with unhelpful thoughts, like how everything about Ben Organa Solo is just a little softer around the edges before he’s fully shaken off last night’s sleep.

“I was being serious, though, when I asked what you’re wearing tonight. I agree with Poe, it’s far too soon for us to go to an event like this together, but I thought I could tweet something about your outfit to make it clear we were talking today.” 

“Oh, right.” He sounds focused now. It’s one of the things she appreciates most about Ben; she can count on him to take this as seriously as she does. “Don’t tell Arnie I said this, but what he had me try on for tonight looks the same to me as what he puts me in for all of these things.”

Not helpful. “Nothing different about it? No colored tie? Fun socks?”

“God no,” he says, sounding genuinely horrified. 

Ridiculous man. She rolls her eyes, but catches herself smiling. 

“Hold on, he put everything in the guest room, let me see if there’s anything we can work with.” 

She absolutely doesn’t allow herself to think about whether Ben is padding through his house naked right now. He’s an arse, she firmly reminds herself, as she tries not to think about exactly what his arse might look like.

They switch to video chat so she can follow along as he rifles through what he’ll be wearing that evening. Fortunately, he’s thrown on a t-shirt by now, so she’s able to focus on what he’s saying, but something nags at her.

“Wait a second, did you call him Arnie? I thought your stylist’s name was Armitage. How do you get Arnie from that?”

“Oh shit.” He pauses. “Okay, he’ll kill me if he finds out I told you this, but his real name is Arnold Humper.”

This is too good, and she carefully doesn’t mention the fact that she didn’t actually agree to keep his secret. Apparently, Ben’s known Arnie since their boarding school days; they’d hated each other then, but once Arnie sorted out his sexuality, he’d become a lot less critical of Ben and a lot more complimentary of Ben’s bandmates.

But while their conversation is going well for a change, it seems her idea is a dud, until Ben provides her with the perfect material. She’s still smiling to herself as she hits send on her tweet.

Getting ready is a surprisingly stress-free process with Rose providing a steady stream of chatter and her sister Paige wielding hairspray and makeup brushes like weapons. It helps that Rey feels confident about her attire for a change, having outsourced the decision-making to a stylist. Poe’s team had found a gem in Bazine, who does double duty as a stylist and unknowing accomplice — every time Rey ‘happens’ to mention something about Ben when Bazine’s in earshot, the detail reliably shows up in the gossip blogs within a day. And since Ben refuses to let her pay her own way whenever they go out together, taking on Bazine’s fees — a non-starter under any other circumstances — helps to balance the scales between them.

She doesn’t expect to see much of Ben tonight; her plan is to stick with Rose. After years of working as a session musician, going to the Grammys is not quite an everyday activity for Rose, but it’s not the life-changing event that it is for Rey, either, and Rey isn’t above clinging to someone who knows what they’re doing. They give themselves plenty of time to navigate the usual LA traffic and the added back up outside the Staples Center, so unlike a few of the others on their group chat, they don’t have to abandon their Lyft to walk the last few blocks. Another key victory is achieved when they make it through security without her snacks being confiscated. 

At first, even the lead-up before the four-hour show starts is thrilling, as they wait and watch for the ‘real’ stars to arrive, but it’s a long — amazing, but _long_ — time to spend in one place, mostly seated. It’s odd to realize how much the show is tailored to the TV audience. They’re reminded often to clap for the people at home, there are multiple stages so that there’s no downtime between segments, and many of the performances aren’t even oriented towards the people who are actually there, but rather to the cameras. It makes sense; the 20,000 people in the arena are a small fraction of the millions watching at home, but it’s not something she’d thought about until she experienced it herself, and as the show goes into its fourth hour, she starts to regret her early morning wake-up.

The energy that had jolted her out of bed that morning comes flooding back when she brushes shoulders with her childhood idols as they wait for the cars that will carry them to the after-parties being held all over the city. After a few hours of dancing and selfies, Rose decides to call it a night, but when Poe throws her an easy grin and an invitation to come with him to yet another party, it’s impossible to say no. She’s thinking about finally calling it a night when she runs into Ben. It’s a surprise to see him at a party like this; he doesn’t seem to socialize unless he has to. But with an album coming out, she supposes he’s not going to miss an opportunity to reconnect with influential people in their industry. In Ben’s mind, attending a party like this is probably just part of the job, like giving an interview or posing for a photo. 

They’re supposed to be at the beginning stages of a relationship, so it makes sense that he greets her. The way his eyes linger over her dress — well, she’s not sure anyone is paying close enough attention to them to catch it, but it’s a nice touch in case they are. But he’s really here for his album, so she can’t figure out why, two hours later, he’s still huddled up on a couch, talking to her. Maybe Ben’s gotten instructions from Poe that she hasn’t, but it’s too risky to ask about it here. 

She’s a couple glasses of champagne in, and that’s probably why the only thing she can think about is that she and Ben are sitting too close together — not from Poe’s perspective, he’d probably like them to sit closer, but for the sake of her well-being. She’s close enough to feel the heat he’s throwing off, and while she’d like to pretend that’s why she’s leaning into him, it’s not exactly cold in this crowded room. He shouldn’t be allowed to smell this good, especially not when he’s playing the role of a besotted soon-to-be lover so well. Because when he’s like this, she just wants to crawl astride his lap and have her way with him. Mess up his absurdly perfect hair. Rip open his shirt. Graze her teeth along his neck, find out where his scent is strongest. It’s just her hormones talking, but it’s harder to ignore than she’d like. 

Instead of indulging her baser instincts and sending both the partygoers and Ben screaming, she sits with him on that couch — still too close — and they talk. Every time he shifts, his arm brushes against hers in a touch so slight she shouldn’t even notice it. She shouldn’t, but she does, and eventually, it’s more than she can take. When she says goodbye to Ben around four, the party is still going strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **How do you get tickets to the Grammys?**
> 
> The Grammys are a closed event; only voting members of the Recording Academy have the opportunity to buy tickets, which start around $200. Of course, nominees, special guests of the Academy (like the heads of trade associations for musicians), and their guests are also invited.
> 
> Tickets are non-transferable, and members who sell their tickets can be kicked out of the Academy. Nevertheless, you can generally find folks trying to resell their tickets, although buying these tickets is extremely risky, as the likelihood of counterfeiting is high.


	11. sparks fly

**February 11, 2019, Part I**

Rose brings over bagels in exchange for an update on the rest of Rey’s night. When Paige calls to interrupt their debrief, demanding they check Twitter, their giddy screams push the limits of the sound barrier, and Rey’s neighbors’ patience. 

She and Ben hadn’t exactly been hidden away at the party, but there had been an odd kind of intimacy in talking with him about everything and nothing. The goal is to generate press, but somehow, the thought of having photos of that moment made available for public consumption doesn’t sit right. If the most voracious and least scrupulous gossip site hasn’t been able to get a hold of any photos, though, it’s not likely any were taken; she tries to ignore the relief she feels at the thought. 

The past 24 hours have possibly been the best of her life. When Rose gushes over Rey’s developing ‘relationship’ with Ben, it’s harder to ignore how many of those hours were spent with Ben, and how easy it had been to forget they were pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** **What's the Daily Fail?**
> 
> The Daily Fail is a creature of my imagination, with art based on The Daily Mail, which is well-known for making a mountain out of a mole-hill and for omitting key words like "alleged" from their headlines. If anyone reading this is affiliated with this revered publication, please know, I say this with love.
> 
> **Please accept this tiny chapter as my thank you to everyone commenting!**
> 
> While I love Rose & Rey, I didn't realize that some folks might be interested in what they wore to the Grammys (shout out to commenter Breakfast) and I've received so many very kind comments about folks enjoying the social media aspect of this story, so this unplanned content is my small way of thanking folks for taking time to comment; it's so nice to not feel as though I'm writing into the void!


	12. take away the pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This is a heavier-than-usual chapter; a more detailed warning is available in the End Notes and asterisks (***) set off the potentially triggering content if you’d like to skip it.
> 
> **Britishisms:**
> 
> **__**_Full stop: _Period (the punctuation mark)

**February 11, 2019, Part II**

Ben’s schedule that week is brutal; Rey hadn’t realized it at the time, but he’d had to go straight from the Grammys after-party to the airport to catch his flight to New York. He’s the host and musical guest on SNL on Saturday, and their six-day work schedule begins on Monday. 

Poe had contemplated having her join him, but they’d collectively agreed, to her relief, that it would be overkill. Rey knows she’s not one for commitment, but she can’t imagine anyone dropping what they’re doing to be at a partner’s beck and call. Still, it’s odd to realize that she’s about to go from spending time with him nearly every day to not seeing him for an entire week.

Ben texts her to let her know that he’s landed, which is a bit odd. She wonders if maybe someone’s looking over his shoulder and he wants to play it safe, but even that isn’t really a good explanation. At the end of the day, she’s still wondering about it, so she calls him.

When he answers, she can’t quite tell from his tone whether he’s performing for the sake of an audience she can’t see, so she asks if he’s alone.

“Is this another one of those ‘What are you wearing?’ traps, Rey?” he jokes.

She laughs. “I just meant, is this a private conversation? Permission to speak freely, sir?”

He makes a sort of choked, whimpering sound. “Sorry, um, just stubbed my toe. Yup. I’m alone. But, uh. Can you not call me ‘sir?’”

They’d spoken last night about the strict private school where he’d met Hux; they must have insisted on formalities like that. It was clear he’d hated school, but it must have been much worse than she’d realized for him to react like this. 

“Of course, Ben. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Brings up difficult memories from school?”

“Um…” — he’d sounded anxious before, but now confusion colors his tone. Did he not think she was listening last night? More likely, he just doesn’t want to talk about it, at least with her. 

“Nevermind, I didn’t mean to pry. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Rey,” but his tone is strained. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

“I’m actually realizing now that there’s not really a nice way to say this. I thought you did something odd, but I think perhaps it’s just me being emotionally stunted.” 

She hasn’t exactly been an open book, but she knows he’s picked up on the clues that her childhood was not ideal, and in any case, it’s impossible to hide that Finn’s the only family in her life and that their relationship isn’t based on blood.

“Alright…but you can’t just say that and not tell me what you were going to say. Besides, I’d have to be the last person to judge you for…let’s call it, ‘having room for emotional growth’.”

She chuckles. “Okay, fair enough. I was surprised that you texted to let me know you landed safely. But I realize it’s a nice thing to do. It’s just not something I’d ever think of.” 

She doesn’t say that Finn is the only person who’s ever worried about her, or that she’d never dream of adding to Finn’s burden by even implying that she expects him to keep track of her. Being loved by Finn, loving him back — it doesn’t change that in the end, she’s responsible for herself. Rey counts on Rey. Full stop.

When Ben speaks again, his voice is sober.

“How much, uh, how much do you know about my family?”

“Um, the same things everyone knows, I suppose? I know she’s focused on the label now, but I guess I still think of your mum as a singer and songwriter first.” Not just _a _singer; without Leia, Millennium Falcon wouldn’t have been one of the best-selling bands of all time — but Ben, of all people, doesn’t need to be reminded of that. “She met your dad through the band, right?”

“Yeah.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “He and Chewie had been playing together in backwater towns and dive bars for years with a rotating crew, but Dad used to say that it wasn’t until he met Mom that everything fell into place.”

And then it hits her like a freight train. Ben’s use of past tense. She was just a kid when it happened, but it was all over the television. Han Solo was piloting a small plane with his best friend and bandmate when his plane crashed. Chewie barely made it; Han hadn’t.

“Oh god, Ben” — she’s never ridden a rollercoaster, but this must be what it’s like, when the bottom drops out from beneath you, and you’re moving too fast for your stomach and throat and heart to unscramble — “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”

“No, it’s fine. Honestly, it’s kind of a relief? So many people, when they meet me, all they see is my parents’ child. It’s nice to think that you didn’t. And, it’s been a while, so…it’s not easy, but…it’s easier, now.”

The words escape without thought, and he’d be right to criticize her breath control now; they’re hardly more than a whisper. 

“You must have been so young.”

“Yeah, they had his funeral on my seventeenth birthday. Pretty sure Leia felt pretty bad about that when she realized, but it was too late to change it at that point. It was a huge production, of course. It, uh, it definitely fucked me up. Not the funeral, I mean, just— the whole thing.”

She finally pulls herself together enough to offer him the out she should have from the start. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about this. It’s none of my business.” 

“No, I— if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to?”

She can listen, if that’s what he wants. It’s the least she can do, really, and it’s almost nice, to be trusted like this. Terrifying, too, because she’s certain to say the wrong thing sooner or later, but so far, it seems like Ben just wants someone to listen.

“It’s weird, because I don’t think I really knew him. I mean, I hadn’t spent time with him in years. My parents were always touring when I was young. When I was really little, they took me with them, but once I got to be five or so, they left me with a nanny so I could go to school. I don’t think my mom realized when she decided to stop singing and start the label that my dad wouldn’t be able to stay put. I don’t know if Han did, either, really. He’d been on the road his whole life; maybe he was like most addicts — told himself he could give it up whenever he wanted.” 

Ben’s sigh carries years of resentment, grief, and resignation. It’s still relatively early in LA, but when she hears what she thinks is the rustle of Ben’s hotel sheets, she lays down in her own bed.

“Anyway, they tried to come home and play happy family with me. I was starting middle school by then.” 

God, they’d missed so much of his life. 

“I was a total shit about it. I mean, validly so, I think — here are these people that I’m used to seeing on holidays and for a few weeks between legs of their tour and suddenly they’re trying to tell me to eat my vegetables and go to bed at nine o’clock? I couldn’t stand it, and neither could Han. He’d disappear every few weeks and we never knew when, or if, he’d come back. It devastated Leia. I mean, they’d been inseparable for years and then he just disappeared on her — and it just made me certain I was right: no matter what they said, this was a temporary thing, and sooner or later, they’d both leave, and I’d be left with people that had to be paid to be there.”

She gnaws her lip, not certain how to respond, but he only pauses for a moment — maybe he didn’t expect an answer; maybe he just needed a moment to rest.

“During one of their ‘on again’ periods — I was fourteen, maybe? — they had the brilliant idea to ship me off to Luke’s. He was taking some bullshit sabbatical from music out in Tennessee, where he and my mom grew up, and Leia acted like the gods themselves had designed this opportunity for me: I could go to this military boarding school and it would give me ‘discipline’ and ‘focus’ and I’d be able to hang out with Luke on the weekends. How perfect, right? I was furious. I wasn’t super popular, but at least I had _some_ friends in LA, and besides, it was my _home_. Leia and Han were the interlopers. It wasn’t fair that I was the one who had to leave.”

She can hear the plaintive boy he must have been, and her heart aches for him.

“I got so angry.” 

He pauses, and she can picture him now, laying in his hotel bed, and the way his heavy breath expands his chest. When he exhales, does he try to push his anger out with the air? Does he feel like he’s never really rid of it, no matter how hard he tries? If he looks closely, is it there, sticking to his lungs?

“I just…stayed angry,” he trails off.

Maybe they’re not so different, then. It gives her the courage to ask a question that’s been weighing on her. Something she needs to understand if she’s going to understand Ben. 

“Is that why you don’t get along with Luke? Because you were forced together?”

His laugh is acidic. “I wish it were that simple. No. Like I said, I was…very angry. I was also a teenage kid who’d grown up in a world where money could get you pretty much anything, and I was transplanted from LA to this repressive school 20 minutes outside Nashville. I was tall, even then, so it wasn’t hard for me to pass as 21, and I had a shit ton of money, so when I slunk back onto campus at two in the morning, it wasn’t a problem to pay off whoever I needed to. People were happy to look the other way.”

“It started when an A&R woman from First Order spotted me. At the time, I thought she was just blown away by my talent.” His self-deprecating laugh doesn’t bode well for how this story ends. 

“It probably sounds paranoid as fuck to say it, but I suspect Snoke knew I was going to school near Nashville and told his folks to look out for me. He’s been pissed at my parents for decades for snubbing his label; I think signing me was his way of getting back at them.”

“Anyway, they cultivated me. Unofficially, of course — I was under 18 and I knew my parents would never let me sign with First Order — but the A&R people would fawn over me. They made sure whenever I left campus, I was never alone, never paid for anything, never performed to an empty room. Snoke himself would send emails, telling me he’d watched a clip, was impressed with how I was improving, couldn’t wait to see more from me. That kind of interest, that affirmation — it was addictive.”

“By the time Snoke sent me draft documents to petition for emancipation, I was more than ready to sign them. I was at Luke’s for the summer, so I asked Snoke to send them to a PO Box because I didn’t trust Luke not to touch my stuff, but they got sent to Luke’s anyway. Snoke said it was a mistake. I don’t know if that’s the truth. I try not to think about it.”

She wishes she was there to comfort him, until his next words; the bitter edge that infuses them make her selfishly grateful for the distance. 

“The package was addressed to me, so Luke shouldn’t have fucking touched it. But of course, he did. *** Then he went into my room while I was asleep, and put the package, my guitar, and the notebooks I used for songwriting in a pile along next to my bed and used a fucking blow torch to light them on fire. I woke up to the smoke alarm going off and a fucking bonfire next to me. I thought he was trying to kill me.” The pain in his voice is heartbreaking to witness, even at a distance of a few thousand miles.

“I threatened to call the cops and he asked me whether I thought they’d look at what had happened and believe him when he said his teenage nephew threw a tantrum, or me when I said my uncle lit a fire inside his own house.” Christ. 

“He called Han, told him he couldn’t stand to look at me, and that my dad needed to get me immediately. Han took the first flight across the country, which got him to Atlanta. Chewie was living nearby, and they rented a private plane to get to me. I was so furious with Luke for interfering with my plans to cut my parents out of my life and with Han for deciding that he felt like parenting that week. I was probably cursing my dad out when his plane went down.”

***

“Christ.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a grim laugh. “Like I said, it fucked me up. I didn’t even go to the funeral. The media wasn’t too awful about me not being there, definitely gave me the benefit of the doubt, but that’s a day I’d like to do over.” His sigh is heavy. “I flew home with Leia and a week later, Snoke approached me about the Knights of Ren.”

“A _week_ later?”

“Yup. He said he was forming a group, asked if I’d be interested in being a part of it. I never thought I’d be in a boy band, but at that moment, I probably would have said yes to anything that got me out of Leia’s house — and she wasn’t exactly up to fighting me about it.”

“That’s not exactly the formation story they sold in Tiger Beat,” she ventures, praying the joke lands. It’s easier to breathe when she hears him laugh.

“No, I don’t imagine it is.” He pauses. “Not the sort of explanation you bargained for when you asked me why I texted, either.”

Is it uncertainty she hears in his voice? She’s never been comfortable dealing with other people’s emotions, but she finds herself wanting to try.

“It wasn’t what I expected, but that doesn’t mean I regret asking.”

“I’m glad you called, Rey.”

So is she. But he’s been the brave one all night, so it seems like she ought to balance the scales, at least a little.

”Me, too. And Ben? I’m glad you texted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** Traumatic events that occurred 10 years ago are discussed in this chapter: While Ben was staying with Luke, Luke behaved aggressively towards him while Ben was asleep and then told Han he needed to pick his son up. On his way there, the plane Han was flying crashed and Han did not survive. To skip this content, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume reading at the second set of asterisks. 


	13. i’m a house of cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **cw/tw:** This is another heavier-than-usual chapter; a more detailed warning is available in the End Notes and asterisks (***) set off the potentially triggering content if you’d like to skip it.

**February 12, 2019**

Rey's still thinking about their conversation when she gets Ben’s call the following night. Twice isn’t enough to make a pattern, but it feels right to settle into her bed while they talk.

Although the show’s writers will be up through most of the night working on sketch ideas for Saturday, apparently there’s not much for him to do at the moment — and it seems like last night’s conversation has been weighing on his mind, too.

“I feel like I owe you some happy memories after unloading on you last night,” he says, and she suspects he’s only half-joking.

“I feel like I owe you some shit ones.” Hopefully her laugh sounds more casual than it feels. Does she really want him to take her up on that offer?

“Alright, let’s start with yours, so we can end on a high note.”

*** It doesn’t take long to paint the broad strokes of her life, and she can almost pretend, in her darkened bedroom, that there’s no one listening. She doesn’t know who her father is — it’s anyone’s guess whether her mother had any idea, but the chance to ask has long passed. She can’t remember exactly when she realized, or accepted, it, but her mum isn’t ever coming back, _can’t_ ever come back, because she’s dead. She didn’t realize it then, but looking back, it's obvious that her mother was an addict. She grew up in a series of foster placements that mostly fell in the ‘let’s not talk about it’ range. ***

She has a habit of reciting these facts as though they happened to someone else, or maybe as though they’re from a story she read once. She knows that it unnerves people, that she’s so matter-of-fact about it, but it wouldn’t change anything to get emotional about things that have already happened, and anyway, she doesn’t _want_ to feel connected to those parts of her life. 

Ben, at least, doesn’t comment on it.

“Damn. You say you’re gonna share some shitty backstory, and you fucking deliver, don’t you, Jackson?”

*** “Oh, I’m just getting started. On a related note: Jackson is a stage name for Jakku, which isn’t even my real name. There weren’t any papers in the flat they found me in, and they couldn’t ID my mum. I told them my name was Rey, but that’s all I could give them. The building we were squatting in was on Jakku Street, so, that's how I got my name.” ***

“That is…that’s some shit, Jakku.”

She buries a growl in her pillow. “Oh, absolutely not. Categorical no. I think half of the reason I wanted to become famous was so I’d have an excuse to use a stage name,” she grumbles.

“Sorry, Jakku” — she can hear the tease in his voice — “you spill details like that, you live with the consequences. I don’t make the rules.”

She doesn’t giggle — she _doesn’t_ — but she will admit to laughing. How is it that Ben, of all people, is navigating this conversation better than anyone else ever has? 

“Alright, your turn, Solo. Hit me with the sappy, happy stuff.”

He does, and it’s surreal hearing legends wander through Ben’s tales of his childhood. It’s hard enough to envision legendary drummer Chewie Bacca showing a child-sized Ben how to work a drum kit; according to Ben, Chewie made for a far more patient, dedicated teacher than Han had been when he attempted to show Ben how to play the guitar. But when Ben tells her the best present he ever got came from Yoda, who’s produced more Grammy-award-winning albums than anyone else in history — and that the gift was a miniature horse the man hadn’t warned Ben’s parents about before presenting it to the six-year-old birthday boy — it’s almost too absurd to believe. 

It’s hard not to notice that none of his happy memories seem to feature his parents, but then he brings up his favorite concert memory: Radiohead’s legendary performance at the ‘97 Glastonbury Festival.

“I didn’t really appreciate the music at the time — I was only five or six then — but I remember my parents’ reactions when Radiohead started to play. They were electrified; they kept looking at each other, the biggest smiles on their faces. I was too old to be held, or so I insisted, but they kept bending down to check in with me, like they wanted to make sure I was experiencing the same thing they were.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the footage of the concert” — she has, but she wouldn’t interrupt him for the world — “but everyone was completely locked in on the band. But I kept looking at the crowd. It was raining, the field was a complete mud pit, but everyone in the audience looked like there was nowhere else they’d rather be in the world. It was the first time I think I really got why my mom and dad loved performing. The first time I wanted that for myself.”

She sits up, leaning against her headboard and drawing her knees up. “So things were…okay, sometimes, with them? With your dad?” 

Yesterday, it had seemed like he wanted, maybe even needed, to talk about Han, and the fact that he’s consistently calling his parents ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ today is probably a good sign, but— it feels uncertain, this new understanding between them. She swallows, and it sounds loud in the silence. Has she messed this up already?

“Yeah.” Ben’s voice is quiet but warm, and something loosens in her chest. “Yeah, not all bad. Sometimes pretty good. The best was always at Christmas.”

She can easily picture the broad smile she hears in his voice.

“I’m not sure what it was about the holiday, but it seemed to settle something in my dad. He was just, peaceful, I guess, then. It was like someone just hit his pause button. I always hated seeing the decorations come down because I knew it meant my parents were leaving. As a kid, I didn’t understand that other families didn’t work like mine, and I was so jealous of those houses where the Christmas lights stayed up ‘til January.”

“I get it now, and you will soon; people pay a lot of money to have you perform on New Year’s Eve. It made sense for them to go. But back then, I didn’t understand. And god, I hated it so much when those storage boxes came back out.”

She hates the longing she hears in his voice. She still would have traded places with him in a heartbeat, but it must have been its own kind of pain, seeing what he wanted so badly slip through his fingers, again and again.

She can’t change the past — not for lack of trying — but it has to count for something, that he’s not alone now. And neither, she supposes, is she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW/TW: **In this chapter, Rey summarizes her background for Ben — she tells the story at a very high level, but it includes references to parental drug addiction and death and child neglect. She informs Ben that her legal surname, Jakku, was assigned to her because when she was found by child services, she knew only her first name and she was living on Jakku Street. To skip this content, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume reading at the second set of asterisks, then stop reading at the third set of asterisks and resume reading at the fourth set of asterisks.
> 
> **What's the schedule like when you’re guest-hosting SNL?**
> 
> There are some great articles about [what a 'typical' week is like](https://thehustle.co/whats-a-typical-week-for-a-writer-at-snl) and [what it takes to get an episode on the air](https://www.eonline.com/news/973991/what-it-really-takes-to-make-saturday-night-live-happen-each-week).
> 
> **Interested in hearing more about that Radiohead performance?**
> 
> Radiohead’s 1997 Glastonbury performance is [ranked by Rolling Stone](https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-lists/the-50-greatest-concerts-of-the-last-50-years-127062/sonic-youth-and-nirvana-european-tour-194279/) as one of the top fifty performances of the last fifty years. From the band’s perspective, it was absolutely miserable. The equipment was a disaster; lead singer Thom Yorke’s monitor wasn’t functioning and the lighting was shining in his face, so he couldn’t see or hear himself play. Burnt out, he hadn’t wanted to perform the festival in the first place, and his bandmate had to talk him down from walking out mid-set. When the set ended and he got off stage, he was ready to light up the crew, until his girlfriend told him to listen to the crowd, who was going absolutely wild.
> 
> If you watch this [concert footage](https://youtu.be/15kZdLaIU7I?t=1884) from 31:24 to 32:34, you can get a feel for the technical difficulties, see the size and enthusiasm of the crowd, and even get a glimpse of the rain falling as the camera zooms in on lead singer Thom York’s face as the band plays the opening bars of “Paranoid Android”.


	14. haunt me when you’re not around

**February 14, 2019**

Rey posts a cover on Thursday as usual and it’s not until she checks in later that evening to see how it was received that, thanks to the stans wondering whether she and Ben are spending Valentine’s Day together, she even realizes it’s February 14th. Ben’s been tied up in rehearsals all day, but it’s past eight on the East Coast now, so he’s probably done now. She could come up with something on her own, but she’d much rather have his help.

She’s about to call him when — speak of the devil — she gets a message from him: a photo of the most carefully plated dish she’s ever seen. Then the texts start coming through:

Her pleading isn’t enough to sway him; he’s committed to his evil plot, and just as he promised, the next three hours are a stream of one photo after another of culinary perfection. She’s never eaten at a place like Le Bernardin, but Ben is happy to tell her all about what she’s missing, except how much he’s paying for the experience. But she doesn’t need to know the price tag to know that he probably shouldn’t be spending his entire meal texting her — although at least he’s not ignoring anyone at his table; he’s far too much of a solitary creature to have invited any of his castmates to join him tonight.

She does accidentally make things difficult for him when she tweets out a screenshot of their conversation with the caption “proof @TheRealBOS is a monster”; it’s just that he’d inadvertently given her the perfect material for a Valentine’s Day post. The way he'd started the conversation makes clear that they'd discussed her coming to New York with him, and although of course friends go on trips together, there’s no doubt people who want to see something there will interpret their jokes as flirting.

Really, it's the perfect thing to share — or it would have been, if she’d thought to wait until he’d left the restaurant to post it. As it is, there’s a small mob of fans waiting for Ben when he leaves. Fortunately, he has a good sense of humor about it. But then, he made her suffer first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Does Ben’s schedule really allow him to eat at Le Bernardin on Thursday if he's guest-hosting SNL on Saturday?**
> 
> Honestly, I haven't been able to pin down precisely when rehearsals typically end on Thursday nights, but until I'm told otherwise, I think it's at least theoretically possible that they'd be over, especially with folks wanting to get home to their dates on Valentine’s Day.
> 
> **What is the Michelin star rating system?**
> 
> A (arguably "the") restaurant ranking system; explainer [here](https://www.tripsavvy.com/about-michelin-stars-1329159).
> 
> **What were the Chef’s Tasting Menu and wine tasting pairings at Le Bernardin in Spring 2019?**
> 
> The menu changes seasonally and the restaurant doesn’t offer an archive of past menus, but [this blog post](https://grapevinepublishing.ca/7040/dinner-out-scott-goes-to-the-best-restaurant-in-the-world) takes you through the Chef’s Tasting Menu on offer during Spring 2019.
> 
> **How much does Ben’s meal cost?**
> 
> $282 for the tasting menu with wine pairing + 8.875% tax + tip. Ben leaves $400.


	15. captivated by you

**February 16, 2019**

Ben had refused to spill any details about his SNL performance, but he did admit he was “a little nervous” about the monologue. When she receives a text from Leia inviting her over to watch the show, she eagerly accepts; being with someone else will distract her from the strange secondhand anxiety she’s experiencing. If Leia’s aware of her son’s nerves, she doesn’t show it. While they wait for the show to start, she regales Rey with stories from her own appearances on SNL, ensures their wine glasses are never empty, and pushes more snacks on her guest than even Rey can eat.

Still, Rey feels better once Ben begins his monologue and she sees how well the audience is responding. Of course, everyone goes wild when he performs his new single — but that had never really been in question. He still has another song to perform later in the show, but she can tell from the smile on his face that he’s genuinely pleased with how the night’s going, not merely relieved to have survived his brief stint at acting. She can’t wait to hear all about it, but she’ll have to; he’s going out with the cast tonight, but he’ll be on a flight home tomorrow.

She’s scrolling through Twitter, trying to come up with something clever to post, when she sees what Leia has written.

She cackles, but when her boss asks what’s so funny, Rey puts her off. She’s figured out what to post tonight, but she’d really rather not discuss it with Ben’s mother.


	16. the lights go wild

**February 18, 2019**

Heading home on Monday, Ben’s papped wearing a hat Rey's been photographed in. Lending it to him had been a last-minute stroke of genius of Poe’s; from the scandalized tone the gossip sites adopt, it's as if Ben's been caught holding her thong, or an engagement ring. The hype around whether or not they’re together has officially reached a fever pitch. 

It’s hard to believe this all started just a month and a half ago when Rey's life has already changed so much. It’s getting rarer by the day that she can go out without someone taking her photo, and she and Ben never escape attention when they're together. It’s surreal, actually, and Finn, as amazing as he is, is absolutely no help. He just doesn’t seem to understand why the fake relationship is constantly on her mind when everything’s going to plan.

After a little less deliberation than probably should be involved and a little more wine, Rey confesses everything to Rose. They’ve grown closer over the hours spent working together on the arrangements for her album, and Rey’s a little nervous about how her— her friend? She supposes they've reached that stage— will take learning Rey has been lying to her since they met. 

Rose is surprisingly forgiving; it seems to go a long way that until now, the only people in on the con — Leia, Poe, and Finn — were people essential to pulling it off. But while Rose doesn't hold the secrecy against Rey, neither does she attempt to hide her surprise.

“All I can say is you two are phenomenal actors. You had me believing. I mean, #truelove.”

God, Rose can do that thing Poe does, where you hear a hashtag without them having to say the word. Is she the only person who can’t do that? Well, other than Ben; he certainly can’t either, but then, he wouldn’t even try. Ridiculous man. But Rose is waiting for a response.

"It's not that I'm not glad to hear that, Rose, but honestly I’ve been a bit surprised that it’s taken off so well? It’s just, we haven’t even kissed yet,” — she’s just going to leave that problem for Future Rey to deal with — “and we already have a ship name.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a total Reylo. No Reygrets,” Rose says with a silly smile. “I think you’re underestimating the draw that you two have. You’re like, really hot, and he is…well, you know.” 

Yeah, Rey knows. 

“The two of you individually is one thing, but together, just…wow.” Rose has a starry-eyed look, as if she’s envisioning it right now...and the only thing more dangerous than losing Rose to her imagination would be following her down that path. 

“Thanks, I think?” Rose flashes her an answering grin. “It’s just, the paps haven't gotten anything more than photos of us sitting at the same table or standing next to each other.”

“Well brace yourself, Rey, because at this point, if you two touch fingertips, it might break the internet.”

She’s earned her calluses from years of playing the guitar, but he’s been playing even longer than she has, and his hands were wrapped around drum sticks even earlier than that. Next to him, she almost feels delicate, and suddenly, it’s not the internet she’s worried about breaking. She’s certain — well, relatively certain — that she’ll survive if he brushes his fingertips against hers. But there are some places he could touch with those fingers of his that just might break her.


	17. smile

**February 21, 2019**

The internet doesn’t break, but it does stutter for a moment when Rey uploads her cover the Thursday after Ben's SNL appearance. 

Usually, she meets him wherever they're having lunch, but to get the video they need, they have to be in the same car, so he picks her up. She’s supposed to be recording them singing along to his new song, but any thoughts of her task fly out the window the first time Ben accelerates from a stop. Now, all she can think about is how she’s going to get back into this car, ideally in the driver’s seat. The car is worth every penny of its six-figure price tag. It drives like the best sex of her life, like a packed house cheering her name, like the audience singing her songs back to her. She asks Ben about the Porsche’s specs, but it’s not long before they get beyond the limited scope of his knowledge. He chuckles at her frustration — what she’d really like is to look at the engine — before revealing that the answers to her questions can be conveniently found in the manuals he never bothered to take out of the glove box when he drove off the lot. She’s jolted out of her reverie when he parks the car; the thirty-minute drive to today's lunch spot’s flown by.

They end up getting their meal to go so they can park at a beach access spot that Ben, and seemingly no one else, knows about. It’s mid-afternoon by the time they get around to filming the video as planned, but she’s happy with how it turns out, and so, apparently, are their fans; the post does real, serious numbers. She should probably be annoyed that her most popular cover to date is one in which her vocals aren’t really on display, but she’s looking at the same post everyone else is liking and retweeting, and she gets it. There’s nothing specific to point to — she and Ben don’t even touch in the video — but they had fun together that afternoon, and it comes across in the clip. Ben’s so good at selling it that if she didn’t know better, she might be swayed by the commenters who are reading into the glances he’s throwing her way. 

She’s not as good an actor as he is, but that matters less now that he’s not irritating her at every turn; when she smiles at him, it looks genuine because it is.


	18. drop everything now

**February 27, 2019 **

Leia is as protective of her baby — of all her artists, really — as it is possible to be given the intense demands of their industry, and despite his heavy promotion schedule, Ben has a free day in the middle of the week. She’s supposed to be recording tomorrow’s thirty-second cover, but she has a few that she’s pre-recorded in case she loses her voice or just isn’t feeling it. She never expected to use one for this, but when he's tempting her with hours on the open road to a mystery destination, it’s an offer too good to pass up, especially since it’s her last day of freedom before she’ll start rehearsals tomorrow. 

They’re weaving down the 405 when she finally convinces Ben to tell her where they’re headed. He seems a little nervous to confess that his plan is to take them five hours round trip for lunch at a little cantina, but once she lets him know she approves of the plan, he beams in response. She’s in a fast car and the wind is in her hair, and if she thinks a little too much about Ben’s wide smile, how soft his lips look, and what they’d feel like on her neck, well, that doesn’t stop it from being a perfect day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What are the rehearsals Rey referred to?**
> 
> Rey is splitting out rehearsal time from recording time because studio rental time is expensive, and she’ll eventually have to reimburse the studio for all of these expenses. A typical length of time to spend on rehearsals, if the arrangements are already in good shape, would be one to two weeks.
> 
> **What’s the 405?**
> 
> Interstate 405 is a north-south freeway in the greater Los Angeles area that is a bypass/alternate route for I-5; it runs along the western and southern parts of the city. It’s among the busiest and most congested highways in the U.S., but depending on the part of the city your trip starts in and where you’re headed, it can make more sense than other routes.


	19. on my guard for the rest of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references lyrics that “Rey” writes; to listen to the song the lyrics are taken from, press play on the embedded audio below and it will play in the same window (if you’ve downloaded this work or just prefer to listen in a separate window, there’s a link, along with the full lyrics, at the end of the chapter).
> 
> **Britishisms**: 
> 
> _Nappies:_ diapers__

Your browser doesn’t support embedded audio; a link to the audio track is at the end of this chapter.

**February 28, 2019**

As it turns out, Rey doesn’t have to use one of her pre-recorded covers that Thursday.

Based on how closely the post is analyzed, Rose’s prediction that Rey and Ben will break the internet when they go official might not be far off the mark.

Rey didn’t think the post would be a big deal; just last week, she uploaded a video where she was clearly in Ben’s car with him, but apparently, this post is proof that they spend time together for non-promotional reasons. If only the fans knew how very intentional every moment she and Ben spend together is, Rey thinks to herself, but then she realizes with a start that, in this case at least, the commenters technically have a point.

When Ben took her to that cantina yesterday, there was no ulterior motive in sight. She hadn't thought about it at the time, but they'd gone out of their way not to be noticed; Ben had apparently known Maz, the owner of El Castillo, since he'd been in nappies, and although Maz had good-naturedly teased him for not darkening her doorstep in far too long, she was more than happy to hustle them off to a darkened corner where they wouldn't attract any attention.

The food had been good — although admittedly she’s not the most discerning judge — but it quickly became clear that Maz's Castle was a music venue that happened to serve food. While they ate, Maz regaled them with tales of the headliners and up-and-comers she'd hosted and the backstage drama she'd had a front-row seat for, and sometimes taken a lead role in herself. Maz didn't mention Millennium Falcon, but on their drive home, Ben had told Rey about how his parent's band had gotten their first big break playing Maz's, and how they'd come back again and again over the years, long after they'd left other 600-person venues behind.

It's bad enough she let her focus lapse while she was spending the day with Ben, but it’s even more unsettling to realize that she hadn't been thinking strategically when she’d sent that tweet, either. But then, she never would have dreamt anyone would pay such close attention to the photo she’d used as a background. It takes effort to shake off the uneasy feeling, but she reminds herself that it's natural that she and Ben have started to spend time together off the metaphorical clock; they’re friends, aren't they? Certainly, if she’s allowed herself to start thinking of Rose as a friend, Ben must count as her friend, too. But the thought of having two friends who aren’t Finn doesn’t make her feel much better, so she refocuses on the debate that’s happening online.

Since it's not entirely clear that the person driving the car in her photo is Ben, it’s devolving into a receipt contest. Posters are brandishing screenshots from Ben's Instagram — there are a handful of photos taken from his Porsche — red carpet photos showing Ben wearing the same watch, and the holy grail, a paparazzi photo of Ben wearing a watch while driving his Porsche. The resolution on the last one isn’t great, though, so there’s a spirited debate over whether it’s the same watch.

At first, it’s funny, but then some people start arguing that Rey’s photo is actually a stock photo, even though they can’t find it anywhere else on the internet, and then someone claims that the label is forcing Ben to spend time with her to help promote her upcoming album, and it's making him so miserable that he's talked to his lawyer about the penalties for breaking his contract. She shouldn't let it bother her; it’s just exhaustion from her first day of rehearsals getting to her. She closes the app.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What’s El Castillo?**
> 
> El Castillo, or the Castle, isn’t a real place, but it’s based on a San Diego venue called [Belly Up](https://www.bellyuplive.com/venues/index). Like Maz’s, while there’s food, the true draw is the live music, and everyone from local bands to major acts like Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blink 182, and Jack Johnson have graced the stage. For big acts, it’s a relatively intimate venue — capacity is capped at 600 — and it’s a local favorite.
> 
> **Lyrics to Drive, the song discussed in this chapter (click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oI-BsWbIg4) to listen to it performed by Halsey):**
> 
> My hands wrapped around a stick shift  
Swerving on the 405, I can never keep my eyes off this  
My neck, the feeling of your soft lips  
Illuminated in the light, bouncing off the exit signs I missed
> 
> All we do is drive  
All we do is think about the feelings that we hide  
All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign  
Sick and full of pride  
All we do is drive
> 
> And California never felt like home to me  
And California never felt like home  
And California never felt like home to me  
Until I had you on the open road and now we're singing
> 
> Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah
> 
> [Spoken Word]  
Umm… Hey, I was just wondering if you wanna like… never mind. Thank you. Bye…
> 
> Your laugh echoes down the highway  
Carves into my hollow chest, spreads over the emptiness  
It's bliss  
It's so simple but we can't stay  
Overanalyze again, would it really kill you if we kissed?
> 
> All we do is drive  
All we do is think about the feelings that we hide  
All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign  
Sick and full of pride  
All we do is drive
> 
> And California never felt like home to me  
And California never felt like home  
And California never felt like home to me  
Until I had you on the open road and now we're singing
> 
> Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah ah  
Ah, ah, ah-ah, ah ah ah


	20. better off being alone

**March 3, 2019**

It's been a few days, but Rey can’t stop thinking about the drive she’d taken with Ben, and the fact that it hadn’t been scripted.

She’s certain she doesn’t feel about Ben the way she does about Finn. She’d done her best, growing up, but she hadn’t been as strong then as she is now, and Finn had been there for her in her weaker moments. She’d never need someone like that now, so it’s not as if Ben could possibly take Finn’s place. But lately, she's been spending more time with her fake boyfriend than she does with her real best friend. It seems like whenever she’s not working on her album, she’s with Ben, and Finn is working around the clock, as committed to learning how to promote Rey through Resistance’s official channels as he’s always been to boosting her profile in an unofficial capacity.

She’d hit 100,000 Twitter followers earlier that week and finally upgraded her phone, along with switching to a post-paid plan, but those milestones, which just ten months ago would have seemed impossible to believe, are much easier to accept than the idea that Ben has somehow become her friend. Counting Rose, she has three friends. Three. It sounds like so many. Too many, really. What if they all need something from her at the same time? Finn knows her, knows she’s sort of stunted, emotionally, but Ben and Rose don’t. 

The more she thinks about it, the more obvious it is that she’ll never be able to meet a functional person’s expectations for friendship. Rose is so close to her sister; she’s probably used to the type of friendships between women that Rey’s only seen in movies. Ben is even worse; he’d assumed his fake girlfriend would want to know that his plane had landed safely. There’s just no way Rey won’t disappoint him.

She doesn’t realize how tight the invisible band around her chest has cinched until it releases; she’s been ridiculous. She’s not friends with Ben and Rose, she’s _friendly_ with them. They work together, and she remembers hearing somewhere that people who work together are more productive when they’re on friendly terms. The ‘work’ that Rey and Ben are doing isn’t exactly traditional, but it’s still work. If sometimes they hang out or talk about things not strictly related to their ‘collaboration,’ it’s not any different from when she does the same things with Rose; just like with Rose, it doesn’t mean they’re really friends.

It’s hard to say whether she’s more relieved to have realized that Ben and Rose aren’t actually her friends or to have reached this realization before she brought up her insecurities with either of them. How embarrassing would it have been to have tried to apologize in advance for disappointing them, only to be told that they were friendly coworkers, but nothing more? Although Ben, at least, probably would have understood, a little. What was it he’d said when he’d been in New York? That he’d be the last person to judge her for having ‘room for emotional growth’? Still, Rey’s grateful she figured things out on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A note about Rey’s follower count:**
> 
> I _may_ have mentioned once or twice that I’ve incorporated some Halsey inspiration in this fic; in addition to using her vocals for the covers, I’m also basing Rey’s retweets, likes, and follower count on Halsey’s in the equivalent time period for her: the months leading up to the release of her debut studio album, Badlands, in 2015. The lyrics quoted in the last chapter are from Halsey’s song “Drive”, which appeared on the same album. 
> 
> Ben’s social media numbers are based on Justin Timberlake’s, and his tour schedule will be loosely based on the Justified tour (relatedly, Justin Timberlake seriously underperforms where he should in terms of comments, retweets, and likes based on the number of followers he has, while Halsey is a social media rockstar).
> 
> **What does it mean to have a post-paid cell phone plan?**
> 
> In the U.S., cell phone companies will run a credit check on you before allowing you to get a cell phone contract. If you have bad credit, or as was more likely the case for someone young like Rey, no credit, it can be difficult to get a contract. The alternative to entering into a contract is to purchase a cell phone without a contract and pay for service in advance on a monthly basis. These two options are referred to as post-paid (since when you’re in a contract, your monthly bill is for charges you incurred in the previous month; in other words, you're paying for charges after you rack them up) vs. pre-paid (because you have to buy minutes, messages, and data before you can use them) plans.
> 
> Rey switching to a post-paid plan is a milestone for her because it means she's established sufficient credit for a phone company to allow her to enter into a contract; this would have happened because she's been making regular payments on her car lease and credit card. If she's getting good financial counsel, she'll have also reported her utility payments to help boost her credit score further.


	21. perfectly fine

**March 6, 2019**

“Alright, Solo, what’s with the cloak and daggers? You leaving me?” Rey tries to sound light-hearted, but she’s certain she isn’t pulling it off.

She’d received a vague text from Ben that asked if she could come over — not an emergency, his message said, but he wanted to discuss their collaboration in person. Rey’s trying not to catastrophize, but she’d headed over immediately. Until she has an assurance from him that he’s not bailing on her, she can’t help but think the worst. It wouldn’t be the first time someone let her down.

“I said in my message it wasn’t an emergency,” he says with a frown. Well, him bailing would have been an emergency to her, but how is she supposed to know how he’d think of it? “I thought you trusted me by now.” 

Great, now she has a sulky baby on her hands. She doesn’t like the idea of indulging this mood of his, but she’s anxious for him to get to the point, so it’s probably in everyone’s best interest that she placates him, this once. 

“It’s not about trust, Ben. It’s just that I wouldn’t blame you if you decided this wasn’t working.” She absolutely would blame him, but she can recognize that’s unreasonable, and at the very least, she’s learned how to fake emotional stability by now.

“Actually,” he drags out the word, absolutely saturating it with condescension before returning to his normal manner of speaking, “I was thinking about our next step.” 

His blush is just adorable, but what is he blushing about? Oh…right. It probably is time to escalate this ‘relationship’ to physical displays of affection. Their fans — at least the ones who wouldn’t prefer to be in Rey or Ben’s shoes themselves — are certainly clamoring for it.

“Right. Next step. Um…what were you thinking?” she asks.

“Just that it would probably make things easier if the first time we kissed wasn’t in public.”

He says it so matter of factly, as if he’s not low-key propositioning her. But he’s right, it _would _be easier, and approaching the topic casually is definitely the way to go. She takes her cues from him.

“Gosh, Ben, it almost sounds like you’re looking for an excuse to kiss me,” she says with a silly smile, and thank goodness she’s comfortable enough to joke with him now, because it’s going to be awkward enough to kiss this man she’s very much attracted to when she’s not with him, not really. 

“You know, Rey, I’m concerned for your future as a musician if your hearing is really that bad.”

Ouch.

“Because if you can’t detect that I am absolutely using it as an excuse to kiss you, I don’t know how you’re going to make it through soundcheck.”

Oh. She's fairly certain she actually gulps at that. He’s moving towards her now, with a look in his eyes that is almost predatory, but it’s Ben, and while he might not care about much else beyond himself, she knows by now that he does try to take her into account, in his own way. He pauses, brushes his knuckles along her cheek, and asks in a quiet, careful voice, “This OK?”

She can’t do anything more than nod, and the movement is so small, he’d miss it if his attention weren’t completely focused on her, and she’s not ready for this, will possibly never be ready for this, but she can’t wait any longer either, so she pushes herself onto her toes.

He crouches down in a way that is, it’s the opposite of hot, really; an unbiased observer would surely call it awkward, but she can’t help but find it adorable, somehow, and brings his other hand up to gently cradle her face. Then— then, they are kissing. Their mouths are barely brushing, and maybe he’s feeling a fraction of the nerves electrifying her right now, because both of their lips are dry. She’s holding onto his arms to support herself, but other than their hands and lips, they’re not touching. It’s as chaste as a kiss can get, and yet, it’s nearly overwhelming. She breaks it with a heavy exhale, opening her eyes to find his flickering between hers. Does he need reassurance? The smile is easy to give, and yes, he must have needed it, because his whole body relaxes and he licks his lips before surging forward again.

If she was floating before, now she is free falling. His arms move to encircle her body, as if he needs to assure himself she’s there, to anchor her to him. Hers roam up his muscled arms to drift around his neck, matching his compulsion to lock him in place, and now that they are pressed against one another, she can feel his restrained strength. He’s being careful, she thinks, to keep his hips from hers, and she breaks their kiss again, resting her forehead against his body to hide her face — because she can’t not smile at that, not delight in knowing that she’s driving him at least a little bit as wild as he’s been making her, and she doesn’t want to have to explain her grin if he feels it against his lips.

They both take a few sobering breaths, and he squeezes her gently before stepping back and giving her a broad smile.

It’s easy to return it. “Seems like we’ll be able to pull that off pretty convincingly, huh, Solo?”

An expression she can’t place flickers across his face but is quickly wiped away. “Yup, I think we’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t do wonders for her ego to have the hottest kiss of her life described as fine, so she gives him a tight smile and makes up an excuse about needing to meet up with Rose. As she’s leaving, Ben asks her if she knows today’s date. She doesn’t, but her phone is somewhere in her bag, so—

He laughs. “It was a rhetorical question, Rey. Happy two month anniversary.”

She didn’t actually have plans with Rose, but she heads over anyway after confirming that she’s free. Rose is always happy to join her in complaining about Luke’s production style — he either refuses to weigh in at all or micro-manages — and Rey needs to vent, even if she’s not willing to talk about the true source of her frustration.

Besides, she reminds herself on the drive over, there’s not really anything to be frustrated about. She’s already made it through two months of this fake relationship. To hold up her end of the bargain, she’ll be kissing an absurdly handsome man, and shouldn’t she be happy about that? And anyway, it’s only for a few more months, and then — then it will all be over. She might not hate Ben anymore, so maybe he won’t disappear completely; maybe they’ll remain friendly after this — but really, if all goes as planned, their schedules will be absolutely outrageous, so even the best-case scenario would be, what? A text when they’re about to collapse after a show? Lunch on the odd day their tour schedules link up? As Ben just inadvertently reminded her, they’ve only known each other for two months. It would be foolish to get invested in someone who’s come into her life so quickly when they’re going to leave it just as quickly. That’s not a mistake Rey will make.


	22. we rule the kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vocabulary:** _Anti_—a person who opposes a relationship they have no connection with; antis are sometimes collectively referred to as "ants" and/or with an ant emoji

**March 9, 2019**

Poe’s proposal for their next big outing — a day trip to Disneyland — makes Ben groan and Rey giddy with excitement. Ben is placated, somewhat, when Poe assures them they won’t be waiting in any lines at the Happiest Place on Earth thanks to a special guide who’ll ensure their experience is as perfect as can be, but he’s still grumbling when he picks her up.

“How can you be so excited about this? It’s going to be miserable. Crowds and kids and lines and just, ugh.” He looks disgusted. She can’t contain her laugh.

“Ben, Poe’s already told you our Magic Person is going to take care of the lines—“

He mutters something about ‘Magic Person’ not being a real job title, but she doesn’t care, anyone who can get her to the front of the line is magical, as far as she’s concerned.

“—and I’m pretty sure any crowds will be made up of kids, so you can’t count that twice. You’re down to one thing, Eeyore.” She’s grinning at him, and her cheeks are going to ache by the end of the day, but she can’t tamp this happiness down.

“I just don’t get the appeal. Don’t they have places like this in England anyway? How are there adults who are actually into this?”

“First of all, there is nowhere in the world that is like Disneyland,” she says primly.

And she’s not getting into this now, but even the off-brand amusement park an hour from where she grew up might as well have been a galaxy away given how far out of reach the cost of a ticket seemed. She’s not going to let those thoughts drag her down, though. She’s here, now.

“And secondly, how could I be tired of it when I’ve never been on a rollercoaster before? Or teacups? Or a carousel, Ben, they have a carousel! So you are not going to ruin this for me. We are going to have the best day ever!” With each word, her volume increases so that by the end she’s just shouting with delight, and finally, his gruff facade breaks and Ben gives in, laughing along with her.

She's not going to question it, but it’s like a switch has flipped for Ben; he’s now fully invested in giving her the ultimate Disneyland experience. He indulges her in absolutely everything, and if she’s not on her guard, he buys anything she looks at for more than a moment. While she’s focused on getting the perfect photo of Mickey balloons in front of the castle, he buys her one in every color. She thanks him, gets him to take a photo with her and their unruly balloon children, and then delicately asks his permission to give them away to the fans who approach them for selfies.

Back home, the paparazzi are getting aggressive, but outside LA, people don't recognize her often (yet, she tells herself), and Ben can sometimes fly under the radar with a hat and sunglasses — this is where his slouching comes from, she realizes; his height draws attention, and he's easily recognizable on a second look. When they’re together, though, their chances of going unnoticed are low, and holding a half dozen balloons won't help with their plan to spend most of the day incognito. Once they’ve unloaded the balloons, they tackle Rey’s agenda — ride all the rides, eat all the Mickey-shaped treats, and try to stave off motion sickness by taking breaks between the two.

As the day goes on, it feels more and more natural to lace her fingers through his when Ben takes her hand, to tease him about his reluctance to ride anything more intense than the carousel she'd been so excited about, and to insist on silly selfies she’ll never share with anyone but him; it’s just— it’s so easy to be with him. This is what Disney sells, she knows, so it’s no wonder she’s feeling this way, but when she glances back at Ben while fireworks explode overhead, and he draws close to wrap his arms around her, it all seems pretty damn magical.

As he drives them home, she scrolls through her phone to choose photos for them to post. She comes up with an idea Ben likes and he hands his phone to her with the ease of a man who has either no secrets, no shame, or most likely of all, no idea how much she could unearth with unrestricted access to his device.

For her post, she chooses a photo to memorialize her brief period of balloon ownership; for his, Ben directs her to use a photo she hadn't even noticed him taking.

Their mentions are flooded immediately, and she reads her favorites to him to pass the time on their drive back to LA.

She sounds ridiculous trying to pronounce the keyboard smash that leads off the tweet, but the laugh she elicits from Ben is worth it.

Rey knows there won’t be photos of any ‘benefits’ since Poe still hasn’t given them the go-ahead to kiss in public…which isn’t to say that Ben hasn’t initiated any more practice sessions in the last few days. She doesn’t need Ben to explain his motives; by the time they kiss in public, they need it to look like an ordinary occurrence, but at this point, she’s fairly certain that’s a lost cause. No matter how many times he kisses her, she loses her head every time; she’s not sure there will ever be anything ordinary about the way Ben makes her feel.

Despite knowing the photos their fans want don’t exist, she feels awkward having read that tweet out loud. Ben doesn’t seem to mind kissing her, exactly, but he does it so frequently, so casually, that it’s clear they’re just run-of-the-mill kisses to him, not the ground-shifting experiences they are for her. It’s not like she has feelings for him, of course; it's just that he’s absurdly hot, that’s all — but god, she can’t imagine how mortifying it would be if he discovered her little crush, or whatever this is. Would it be worse if he reverted to the arrogant arsehole he’d been when she first met him, or if he treated her with pity? Neither reaction bears thinking about, but so far, it doesn’t seem like he thinks her responses to his kisses are out of the ordinary; but then, if he always kisses like that, he’s probably used to reactions like hers. Even assuming her interest in…benefits is still under his radar, though, ‘best friends’ suggests a much greater level of intimacy than they really have.

At least there’s a funny tweet to distract them.

It’s too dark to tell, but she’s sure if she flipped on the interior lights, Ben’s ears would be red. She bargains with herself; in exchange for not embarrassing him further by mentioning the poster’s Twitter handle, she won’t acknowledge, to herself or him, the fact that she uses the same photo for Ben on her phone as the thirsty poster uses as her profile picture.

She skips most of the ones from antis, which Ben adorably calls bugs, to Poe's everlasting frustration, but there’s a conversation that she thinks is funny, so she reads that to Ben, too:

Ben interjects, “Jerk. We’ve been together nearly every day! It’s not our fault the photographers have terrible taste in restaurants.” 

True, but she, at least, had been slacking on targeting the places where they’d be certain to be papped. They really needed to be better about remembering that.

“I know, but that’s not the good part. Listen to the response.”

It gives her a twinge when she reads the word ‘love’ — how could anyone really believe they’d fallen in love in a matter of weeks? — but once Ben understands that the poster is calling their critic a clown, he cracks up.

Her favorites are the ones that are complete hyperbole.

She’s still reading tweets aloud as he pulls up to her place to drop her off, and her stomach aches from laughter. Looking at the grin on Ben’s face, she’s pretty sure she’s not the only one.


	23. we rule the kingdom, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for commenter [Lenina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenina/pseuds/Lenina), who was interested in hearing more about Ben and Rey’s time at Disneyland ❤️
> 
> **Vocabulary:** _STG_—swear to god

**March 10, 2019**

Rey tries not to spend too much time on Twitter, but she’d had so much fun reading those posts about their Disneyland trip to Ben last night, so it’s not much of a surprise when they end up texting each other more of their favorite tweets throughout the day. She realizes with a smile that it’s been ages since Ben complained about her refusal to wade into her DMs; maybe she’s not the only one getting used to her fake partner’s quirks.

It’s a relief when even the snarkiest of celebrity gossip sites doesn’t have anything especially rude or invasive to say; they’re simply one of many hoping for a photo that’s more than G-rated. Although Rey’s glad her privacy has been maintained so far, if she’s being honest, she can relate.

When a shot of a couple kissing in front of a castle starts to circulate, even though it’s obviously not her and Ben, she’s frankly shocked when the Daily Fail doesn’t jump on it; she’s already had a few brushes with these reporters’ loose adherence to journalistic standards.

She almost sends the post to Ben, but reconsiders; he absolutely loathes the Daily Fail. They gush over Ben, but they learned long ago to give him a wide berth. Their coverage of her, on the other hand, was initially less positive. Lately they’ve turned a corner, but now that they love her, photographers on their payroll have been aggressive, at least when Ben’s not around. She doubts one accurate tweet will be enough to improve his opinion of their organization.

Besides, it’s not like she and Ben are at any risk of running out of things to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Is the Magic Person Rey referred to real?**
> 
> Very much so! The Cast Members, or CMs (the official title for Disney employees, to remind them they’re putting on a ‘show’ for guests), are technically “VIP Tour Guides,” and anyone with money to spend can hire one. Disney provides details on its [website](https://disneyland.disney.go.com/events-tours/vip-tour-services/) about all the perks you’ll receive for the low, low price of around $475 to $675/hour (there’s a seven-hour minimum); the primary perks are that the time you spend waiting in line is minimal; you have a reserved spot for parades, fireworks, and similar entertainment; and you have an incredibly well-informed tour guide with you at all times who can tell you anything from the location of the nearest restroom to trivia about ride design.
> 
> Sweetestpiglet was kind enough to share their experience using a VIP Tour Guide in a comment on this chapter; as you can see from [their comment](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/257069204), if your budget permits, there are absolutely circumstances in which a VIP Guide can be worth it, particularly if you’re traveling with a large party (up to 10 people can share the perks); during Star Wars Celebration and other peak times, it’s especially helpful.
> 
> **How can you tell if someone is on a VIP Tour?**
> 
> The CMs giving these tours are dead giveaways; they’re the only ones wearing the plaid uniform shown in the Daily Fail photo who are out in the parks (the same uniform is also worn by CMs in the central Guest Services area in each park). Disneyphiles consider these uniforms so iconic that I’ve seen a guest wearing a costume designed to mimic the uniform during a Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween party (yes, that’s the real name for the parties held in Disneyland and Walt Disney World). Proof of the costume, and a review of the party, [here](https://dixiedelightsonline.com/2018/10/mickeys-not-so-scary-halloween-party-2018.html).
> 
> **Why were Ben and Rey in the park so late?**
> 
> The nighttime shows, Fantasmic! and World of Color, played at 9:30 and 10, respectively, on March 9, 2019. Ben wasn’t going to let Rey miss those.
> 
> For an ordinary guest, it would be extremely challenging to see both shows in one night because of the tight timing and distance between them; VIP access makes it possible for Rey and Ben, but they certainly weren’t lingering after Fantasmic! ended around 9:55. I’ve not seen either (Walt Disney World’s version of Fantasmic! is significantly different from Disneyland’s), but I’ve heard repeatedly that if you have to choose between them, you should see World of Color.
> 
> **Did Ben & Rey spend time in the new Star Wars part of the park?**
> 
> Nope; Galaxy’s Edge opened on August 29, 2019, in Disneyland Park (and on the same day in Hollywood Studios in Walt Disney World). Previews for special guests (CMs, annual pass holders, members of the media, bloggers) started earlier, but not early enough for them to have visited in mid-March 2019.


	24. i want

**March 16, 2019**

Ben’s been touching her constantly lately; it was especially obvious when they spent the day together at Disneyland, but it happens whenever they’re together, which is…often, Rey realizes. It’s not that she objects; she knows if she did, he’d respect it. He never takes it beyond kissing, either, but just the feel of his hand spanning the small of her back as they weave through the tables in a crowded restaurant sends a flare of heat through her that’s hard to ignore. He makes it look natural — tender, even — when he brushes back a lock of hair that’s fallen into her face, but she has to physically check herself from carding her fingers through his hair in return and using her grip to pull his face to hers. And then there are those looks he gives her; it’s just practice for him, she knows, so that he’s in the habit of it when the cameras are on them, but when she catches a glimpse of that fire in his eyes, she just wants to climb him. 

She didn’t realize how uncomfortable Ben must have been with her until he isn’t anymore; he stands so much closer to her now and doesn’t curl in on himself like he used to. It should be fine, really, except having to arch her neck to look up at him makes her think of what it would be like to be lying on his bed, her body bowed back in pleasure as he eases into her. Her neck feels more exposed when her head is tilted back, and she wants nothing more than for him to lean down to suck that sensitive spot where it meets her shoulder. She’s used to thinking of her body as her instrument, and her size is relevant to her lung capacity and even her vocal range — but with Ben around so much, it’s impossible not to think of her size in contrast to his. Seeing his huge boots next to her shoes just…does things to her that she can’t really explain. When they eat, the difference in how the silverware looks in his hands and hers should be comical, but instead, it’s…distracting. What else would be different in his hands?

She doesn’t think he’s intentionally taunting her, but it’s hard to believe Ben’s genuinely unaware of the effect he has on her, and the more time they spend together, the more intense her pent-up sexual frustration gets. She’s trying to enjoy her Saturday night out with Rose when Rey finally concludes that she needs to get shagged before she combusts and she wonders aloud whether she ought to use Tinder or just go home with one of the men not-so-surreptitiously throwing glances their way at the bar. Perhaps the pretty waitress is the better bet.

Rose shoots her a look of alarm that is completely uncharacteristic for her typically sex-positive outlook, tells her to hush, and hurriedly closes their tab. Admittedly, Rey, at least, has probably had enough, but they’ve just wrapped up two weeks of rehearsals and she needed to unwind. Rose keeps her distracted until they’re dropped off at Rose’s place and then turns serious.

“Hon’, I’m not sure if this is the alcohol talking or if this genuinely didn’t occur to you, but until you and Ben break up, you cannot sleep with anyone else. You can’t even flirt with anyone else. You _know_ how the media would interpret that.”

It might sound like a lecture, but it’s clear Rose’s ire is directed at the double standard. If Rey ‘cheats’ on Ben, it will be an absolute nightmare for her, and even if the roles are reversed — if it’s Ben ‘cheating’ on Rey — it will still probably be worse for her than for him.

She and Ben concocted this fake relationship to bolster their popularity; it would be beyond foolish to risk it all because their hormones got the best of them. Their relationship must appear to be perfect until they amicably part, and that doesn’t allow for sleeping around.

Rey moans pathetically, and it has almost nothing to do with the fact that she’s possibly had one too many overly-sweet drinks tonight. She wonders if Ben’s already thought of this. Should she talk to him about it? God, the conversation would be so awkward, but it would be worse if she didn’t say anything and he overlooked it the same way she almost did, right?

Rose, the angel, opens a bottle of wine; Rey’s perspective may have changed, but the fact that they don’t need to be back to work until Monday hasn’t. If anything, Rey needs to unwind now more than ever.


	25. all at once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **nsfw**

**March 17, 2019**

Rey wakes to the sound of the doorbell. Her head is pounding and it takes a moment to remember that she crashed with Rose. She feels the bed move; thank fuck Rose is going to make the godforsaken doorbell stop ringing. Rey might fall back to sleep; it seems like no time passes before Rose is back in the room, accompanied by the most heavenly smell.

Her moan of pain transforms into one of delight. “Western Bagel delivers? How did I not know this?! Rose, you’re a goddess, an angel, you’re my new religion.”

“While I appreciate that, and frankly, it’s overdue,” Rose smirks, “I can’t take credit. Receipt said ‘Solo’.”

What? She’d mentioned that she was getting drinks with Rose, but she hadn’t planned to spend the night. How on earth? She scrambles for her phone, and— oh no.

“Oh, Rose. Oh god, Rose. I did a bad thing. I did a very bad thing.” Rose reaches for her phone, and Rey gladly hands it over. She’s really not up to dealing with these messages right now, and she’d be happy if the sad-faced selfie she only vaguely remembers taking in Rose’s kitchen disappeared from the face of the earth. She’s not expecting Rose’s laughter.

“Honestly, Rey, in terms of fake boyfriends, you couldn’t have done better. Hot, sweet, and smart. He totally covered for you if these texts ever get leaked, and he could have just said he was sending this stuff without actually doing it.” Rose digs in the bag for the previously undiscovered pain relievers and they each wash down a dose with lemon-lime flavored electrolytes. Rose makes a face, but it’s Rey’s favorite flavor. She doesn’t even remember mentioning that to Ben.

“I should call him,” Rey says, though she really doesn’t want to.

“Yeah, but he said you could wait ‘til you’re feeling human. And hon, I say this from a place of love, but if you feel as good as you look, you’re not feeling human yet.” 

They laugh, go back to eating their bagels, and sleep for another two hours.

After a shower at her own place, Rey finally does feel fully human again, but she thinks it’ll be easier to face up to her mortifying actions with a bit of a bribe in hand. She picks up Ben’s favorite tacos on her way to his place and hides her face behind the bag when he answers the door. He just laughs and ushers her in, dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek before he closes the door. She didn’t see any photographers outside his house, but Poe had given them the go-ahead to be photographed kissing, and he’s right: this would be the most natural setting for it.

“God, Ben, I’m so embarrassed and so sorry. I have absolutely no excuse.”

“Really? No excuse?” He seems amused by her embarrassment, the prat. Whatever, she’s a grown woman and she’s not ashamed to have a healthy sex drive.

“Alright, no excuse other than a few too many drinks and not having been shagged in…,” she actually does know it’s been six long months, but he doesn’t need to know that, “I don’t know, too long.”

Now he’s the one blushing. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I, uh…I get it.”

And she has one of those Rey moments. A moment of leaping before she looks. Because Ben is…well, he’s not the condescending, obnoxious prat she thought he was, at first. Or he is, but it’s not because he’s arrogant. It’s the opposite, really. He’s so desperate to matter and to prove to everyone, himself most of all, that he doesn’t need his parents, or Luke, or Snoke to succeed. It comes out in the worst possible way, but somehow, it doesn’t bother her anymore.

His little touches have been driving her wild. But the first time they kissed, and every time since, he’d been so careful to keep distance between their bodies. So when he says he gets it, maybe he really does. 

“Do you, Ben?” She lets her tone and her gaze carry the heat she’s feeling. Rey’s never been one for half-measures.

He gulps. “Um, yes?” He could be more enthusiastic, but she can work with flustered.

“Because if you do understand, I think I might see a solution. If you’re willing…”

“Willing?”

She hums in agreement. “You know, I always liked school. Maths was one of my favorite classes.” He’s clearly baffled by her apparent non-sequitur. “Sometimes when I have something I need to work out, I still treat it like a word problem.”

“So, Ben, if Rey wants to get fucked,” his pupils flare, “and she can’t fuck anyone but you,” she dares to place one hand on his shoulder, running the fingers of her hand other down his neck, “who should she ask to fuck her?”

His response, a breathy exhale of her name, isn’t quite an answer, but it’s all she needs to meet him in a searing kiss. It seems to jolt Ben awake, and he wrests control of the kiss from her — not that she’s fighting him for it. He melds their bodies together. It’s impossible to decide what’s doing the most to fan the fire in her — the friction of his broad chest against her nipples, the way his arms cage her in, the flex of his hands on her waist when with one word — bedroom — she reminds him that they can enjoy each other even more with the benefit of a horizontal surface.

It’s strangely erotic, the way he walks her backward towards his room without breaking their kiss, as if it’s a dance and he’s asking her to trust in his lead. They quickly go over the necessary health questions and Ben pulls condoms from his nightstand, and then she focuses on getting his clothes off as quickly as possible, not wanting to be parted from his kisses any longer than necessary. The slide of his tongue against hers is electric.

He’s moving too slowly for her; she’s got him down to his boxers when he sits on the bed, but when she straddles him, she’s still fully dressed. He takes advantage of the position to suck at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and it’s so good, too good, because she needs more than this.

She pants, “Ben, please, please, please” and those really are magic words for him, because before she knows what’s happened, he’s picked her up and flipped them so she’s lying on her back on his bed, and his body’s stretched out over hers.

“Rey,” his eyes are searching hers like she holds the answer to every question he’s ever had. “I want to hear that again. I want to make you forget everything but ‘Ben’ and ‘please.’”

It’s a demand and a plea in one and it sounds…it sounds like a very, very good idea to her. She whimpers, she thinks, and tears off her top, and as she does, he sucks kisses into the newly exposed skin. He asks a question, but it’s impossible to pay attention to his words when his mouth is doing that.

“Rey? Will you answer me, sweetheart? Will you let me make you forget everything but ‘Ben’ and ‘please’? Because I want that, Rey. I want that so much.” 

With his hips cradled in hers, she can tell that he really, really does want that.

“Yes, Ben, please.” 

He makes a pained noise. “You’re right, let’s keep ‘yes’ in your vocabulary.” He licks a stripe up her neck and starts to nibble at her ear.

She unhooks her bra and is about to pull it off when he stops her with a gentle hand.

“Ben, please, I—” he stops her words with a pleading glance, but the moment she pauses, hazily remembering something he’d said about narrowing down her vocabulary, it’s like she’s lit a fire in him. She hadn’t fully understood the game she was agreeing to play, but if this is his response…

“Perfect. You’re perfect.” He looks like he wants to devour her. “Do you want to be good for me, Rey?”

Her response is a thready, plaintive, but unmistakable, “Yes.” This isn’t something she’s done before, but she can’t argue with the rush of moisture between her legs. She _does_ want to be good for him.

He sucks on her earlobe and whispers, “Yellow for slow, red for stop, okay?”

And she’s not sure if he’s testing her or if he’s forgotten already, but Rey congratulates herself for remembering to say ‘yes’, not ‘okay.’

He drops a gentle kiss below her ear and then, as a reward, maybe, he peels off her jeans and pulls off that damn bra. He places her wrists next to her ears, pressing firmly, and she gets the message — stay put. She whimpers. Not from pain or alarm — it’s just that if he keeps ratcheting up the intensity without actually _doing_ anything about it, she might die. 

“Alright, sweetheart?”

Her ‘yes’ is less of a statement than a question — because she’s not sure if she’s alright, and she’s not sure if she’s going to be. She needs him to _do_ something, and he must see that, or guess it, because he drops his head to her breast and begins to kiss and lick in a pattern that only he can understand. He gets so, so close to her nipple only to draw away at the last moment. She has the desperate wish that her wrists were tied so at least she’d have something to strain against.

Thank god one of her words is ‘please.’

Ben chuckles into her skin, but he gives her what she wants. Her nipples are so hard that her pleasure when he finally turns his attention to them borders on painful. She doesn’t realize she’s chanting his name until he hums happily.

“So good for me. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

He starts to trail kisses down her torso and she’s wiggling with anticipation — and then is devastated when he bypasses her dripping cunt entirely. Instead, he makes his way down her leg, kissing, licking, gently nipping. The back of her knee, the bones of her ankle — nothing escapes his careful attention. She sincerely believes she might cry when, after making the return journey, he restarts the circuit on her other leg.

Finally, finally, he settles himself between her legs and she is trembling with anticipation and need. She cries out at the first touch of his tongue — a long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit. His movements are caressing; just a fraction lighter and slower than she’d choose, intentionally driving her into a frenzy. His nose, those plush lips — she’d thought before that he was made for this, but thank god she’d had no idea of how good it would be, because she wouldn’t have been able to think of anything else.

He places the tip of a finger against her entrance. She couldn’t ask for it with only the three words she’s allowed, not if she wanted to keep being good — and she really, really did want to be good for him — but now she can deliver a litany of yes, yes, please, Ben, yes.

Even though there’s no question what she wants, he pauses for a moment before giving her what she’s needed for an eternity now, sliding his thick finger home and god, with something to clench down on, finally, she’s almost there.

She doesn’t know if Ben’s on edge too, or if he knows this is headed in only one direction, quickly, and he’s simply determined to ruin her for anyone else, but he gives up on trying to hold her back. He adds a second finger — fuck, everything about him is big — and his tongue is worshiping her clit. He wraps an arm around her hips to pin her in place and uses it to add to the pressure of his fingers inside her, moving in an inexorable rhythm. She is so, so close, but it’s as though she doesn’t trust herself to fall apart without an anchor.

“Please? Ben, please?” she begs in a desperate, wavering voice and he looks up to see her give a pointed glance towards her wrist. Whether they have a moment of psychic connection or he simply doesn’t want to tell her no to whatever it is she’s asking for right now, she’s not sure, but he nods permission, and her hands dive into his hair. He takes it as a signal to switch from those licks and taps of his tongue that have been driving her wild to suction that rockets her to her climax. It’s the best kind of orgasm — the pleasure builds and builds and builds and then is suddenly next level, a total white-out, and she knows she’s screaming, but at the same time, she’s detached from it, because the only thing that exists in her universe is how good she feels.

When she reconnects with this plane, Ben’s pressing soft kisses into her thigh. He looks up at her and arches a brow. “Good?”

“Yes, Ben, s—“ But she cuts herself off. Are they still playing his game?

He surges up the bed to devour her mouth. The taste of herself on his tongue is faint but erotic.

“Perfect, you’re so perfect, so good for me, Rey.” He’s nipping at her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. “But tell me, did I make it good for you?” 

If it were anyone else, she’d think he just wanted her to inflate his ego, but it’s Ben, so maybe he actually needs to hear it. “Fuck, Ben, so good. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” She’s added a grand total of two words to her vocabulary, but it’s clearly getting to him. He’s grinding against her, and the rough feel of his boxers against her sensitive clit is just shy of too much. It reminds her that she needs to get that damn fabric off him, but first, she wants to be sure he knows just how incredible that was for her.

“Ben, I’ve never — fuck,” he’s kissing her again, and he’s found just the right spot on her neck, it feels divine, “it’s never felt that good, I thought I would die I needed it so bad, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Never.” He gives her a searing kiss. “I’ll always give you what you need, Rey.”

And he’s a man of his word, because what she needs now is him. She just had the most satisfying orgasm of her life, and already, she’s desperately aching for him. It’s hard to fathom, but that’s not something she needs to worry about right now, because he’s slipping off his boxers, rolling on a condom, and then finally, finally lining up.

He hesitates, biting his lower lip, searching her eyes for something, though she can’t imagine what. It couldn’t be clearer that she’s ready for this, or as ready as she can be — he’s proportional, and it’s going to be a stretch, but one she can’t wait to feel. 

She shifts impatiently and whispers his name, a command and a plea at once.

He sinks into her and it’s overwhelming. The drag of his cock, the friction of his pelvis against her clit when he bottoms out — it’s good, so good — but he’s moving so slowly, so gently. He must be trying to give her time to adjust to him, but it’s messing with her head, because this doesn’t feel like fucking. It’s not the way Rey fucks, anyway, and she feels a moment of panic? Alarm? But it’s easy to fix.

“Harder, Ben, please.” 

There’s that look again, as if he’s not sure she’s ready, but she clenches around him and he groans and then he’s not holding back. If the slow push and pull of his thick cock was good before, it’s fucking phenomenal now that he’s picking up the pace. He’s supporting himself on one arm so that he can tease her nipples with the other hand, and Rey can’t decide where to put her hands. His hair is begging to be gripped, but his muscled shoulders are tempting, and the broad planes of his chest are _right there,_ too. When she wraps her hand around his arm and her fingers reach less than halfway, the disparity in their size is such a turn on that she can’t hold back a whimper as she squeezes her legs around him.

She’d thought he was as deep as he could go, but apparently not, based on his response.

“Yes, sweetheart, gonna take me all the way, aren’t you?”

The noise that she makes is meant to be a question, to say ‘how the fuck is there more to take?’, but to be fair, it probably does sound like encouragement. She certainly doesn’t stop him as he slips an arm beneath her hips to get the angle needed, and good god damn, that little bit deeper is everything.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure to build, and he must sense how close she is because he shifts back onto his knees. He lifts her hips higher, manipulating her body as though she’s a doll. She’s transfixed by the sight of him sucking a thick finger into his mouth and releasing it with a pop, and yet she’s still somehow unprepared for the sensation overload when he rubs his spit-slicked finger against her clit. He’s murmuring words of praise to her that she occasionally catches, but she’s mostly insensible to everything but the steadily building pleasure.

When she comes, clenching around that cock she’d like to write a hundred songs about, it’s no effort at all to use his favorite words: “please,” because she doesn’t want him to stop, “yes,” because of course, _yes, _and “Ben,” because sure, it’s just a fuck, but he hasn’t let her forget for a moment who it is she’s with.

She has to tug his hand away from her clit; apparently, she didn’t need to plead him not to stop. Even so, she’s confident he didn’t mind one bit that she begged him to keep going.

He’s seemed completely in control until this moment, as if he could fuck her for hours at whatever pace she needs, but once he’s certain she’s taken care of, it’s a different story. Now he’s the one saying “yes, Rey, yes” and it’s not long before he’s spilling inside her, his face buried against her neck.

They’re breathing heavily; neither has recovered yet, but what is he doing? She has to ask.

“What—” She can’t catch her breath. Maybe he had a point about her breath control, after all. “Why are you — I don’t know, hovering? like that?”

His face is still tucked into her shoulder, he’s sweaty — she can feel moisture collecting against her neck — and he hasn’t pulled out yet, but somehow, he’s managed to lift most of his body weight off her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” comes his muffled response. “I weigh a lot, and you’re tiny.”

She snorts. “You’re a big guy, Ben, but I can assure you that your weight is not the aspect of your size that I find intimidating.”

He tries to wipe the sweat on his face onto his pillow without her seeing, which is unnecessary, but very Ben, and lifts his head to grin down at her. “Oh yeah?”

She might be over-feeding his ego at this point, but he had just given her two phenomenal orgasms, so she answers with a broad smile. “Oh, yeah.”

They’re responsible adults, so they wash up, and then Rey remembers she brought tacos, so they eat, but she finds herself back in Ben’s bed for another round before the end of the day. 

Ben’s reactions didn’t leave much room for doubt as to whether he enjoyed himself, but any uncertainty she might have had disappears when he offers to let her stay over, clearly hoping for morning sex. Even if she were the type to spend the night with a hook-up, though, Rey’s already missed a night in her own bed thanks to over-indulging with Rose the night before. 

Still, given Ben’s offer, Rey decides it doesn’t seem too desperate to offer a trade; in lieu of starting their week with morning sex and the breakfasts that had replaced their lunches when she’d begun rehearsals, she proposes getting dinner — somewhere prominent, since despite promising themselves and Poe otherwise, they seem to keep ending up at places they actually enjoy instead of those where photographers are likely to hang out — and going home with him tomorrow night. Ben’s face falls for a moment when she talks about dinner, and she wonders if perhaps she’s overestimated her appeal, but he quickly agrees, so she decides to put it out of her head. He’s probably just not looking forward to the media circus, but they both know that’s the whole point of them spending time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEN SOLO CRIES AFTER SEX, PASS IT ON
> 
> _End Notes of exceedingly less critical nature: _
> 
> **What is Western Bagel?**
> 
> Western Bagel is one of the better-known and more popular sources of bagels and bagel sandwiches in the LA area. They have around a dozen retail locations, and you can also have their bagels delivered using DoorDash or UberEats if you’re in the LA Metro area or shipped in 1–2 days if you’re outside that area. While both DoorDash and UberEats will also make stops at convenience stores to pick up over-the-counter medicine and Gatorade, they don’t (yet) combine orders from different vendors. To avoid disturbing the girls twice, Ben had an assistant pick up the convenience store items and the bagels and deliver them to Rose’s.


	26. my idea of luxury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **nsfw**

**March 23, 2019**

The dinners — they’re not dates, obviously, although she’s sure that’s what they look like from the outside — have become a nightly occurrence, despite how ridiculous their schedules are. In under a week, though, Rey discovers they have a problem. Ben Solo is absolutely shit at fucking. 

That’s not to say that he’s not the closest she’s ever come to being with a sex god. Sometimes just looking at him is enough to make her mouth water, and his appeal isn’t just visual; the smell of him on a sweater he leaves behind or the sound of his voice on the telephone is enough to get her going. Ridiculous things, too, like a funny tweet he texts to her, get her thinking about his smile, and then she’s planning the next time she’ll be able to see him and how she’ll draw a smile out of him.

The problem is that his smiles too often turn soft. He seems to think she’s delicate, touches her with gentle caresses as if he’s worried he’ll break her, winds her up far past the point of reason, like she’s not ready for him the moment they touch. 

It’s become uncomfortable; at first, Rey had been too caught up in the newness of it, how overwhelming it was to be with him, to notice. Then she had tried not to pay attention to it, but it’s impossible to ignore, and it’s making her itch. It’s as if he’s not turning off the act they put on in front of the cameras, as if he’s still pretending to be in love with her, even in this, and for the sake of her own sanity, she has to put an end to it. Not to the sex, of course; now that she’s had a taste of that, she’s not giving that up until she has to, but to the make-believe tenderness of it all. 

Rey is going to make Ben Solo fuck her if it’s the last thing she does, and it’s time to pull out the big guns. It’s not like she hasn’t been trying, though. It’s just that every time she tries to get out a “Fuck me harder, Ben,” he swallows it with a kiss. She can’t very well beg him to talk dirty to her when he’s already telling her how good she feels; it’s just that the way he says it isn’t filthy, it’s nearly reverent. She hasn’t been able to find a position — and they’ve tried several — where it doesn’t feel like a parody of worship. The farce ends tonight. Rey is done with making half-hearted attempts to set the tone. Ben has no idea what’s waiting for him.

The first element of Rey’s battle plan is to invest in appropriate armor. She suits up in back-seamed stockings and lingerie that someone with less imagination would call non-functional. Rey’s looking forward to seeing just how very well they function for what she has in mind. The black dress Bazine selected for her is slightly less important — she’s only wearing it to get Ben thinking about taking it off — but the stilettos are key. Those, Rey intends to keep on.

She’s watching Ben closely to gauge his reaction when he picks her up for dinner, and it’s even better than she hoped for. She usually dresses in lighter colors, but if this is his response to seeing her in black, she might be tempted to part with some more of her advance to expand her wardrobe.

The second stage of her plan is to choose the battlefield; the private dining room of Providence is the perfect setting, with a semi-circle booth that allows her full access to Ben and a tablecloth that ensures that, provided she doesn’t get too carried away, the waitstaff won’t have anything too scandalous to report. Besides, ever since his meal at Le Bernardin, Ben has been asking for the opportunity to bring her to what he considers LA’s best seafood restaurant.

As they’re driven over, Ben seems to second guess his request, reminding her that Providence ‘only’ has two Michelin stars, as if his recommendation might be judged inferior by a woman who’d sometimes survived on mixing ketchup packets with warm tap water and pretending it tasted the same as tomato soup. After her first bite, Rey questions whether she’ll be able to focus on her plan of attack; the food is a nearly religious experience, but her libido reminds her that fucking Ben without that squirmy feeling in her gut is going to be even better, and she rededicates herself to the mission.

Rey starts slowly, with casual touches designed to make Ben wonder if he’s imagining whether they’re intentional. The brush of her arm against his as she reaches for her glass. The slide of her stocking-clad leg against his trousers when she shifts her weight. She provokes him with heated glances, suggestive sips of wine, borderline indecent moans as she delights in the dishes they’re served. As the meal progresses, so do her advances. Although they’re in a private room, the tasting menu they selected has small portions and many courses, so the wait staff is constantly coming in and out. Although she doesn’t acknowledge it when she starts to run her heeled foot up and down his leg in a slow and steady rhythm, Ben’s hands tighten on his silverware. She doesn’t know — doesn’t care, really — whether her name on his lips is a plea or warning.

The waiter brings in their final course, and she speaks to Ben as though nothing is amiss. “You know, Ben, I’m not used to meals like this. Stretching out the experience like this, only getting a small taste — I like it. It’s made me look forward to dessert even more.”

“Rey,” and she’s sure this time — there’s a plea beneath that commanding tone, “we can take dessert to go.” 

It sends a thrill through her to hear the strain in his voice, to know the strain in his body must be far worse, but she can’t give him the upper hand now. 

“Don’t be silly, Ben. It’s ice cream.” She goes for the kill. “It would be a wet, sticky mess by the time we got to yours. Besides, I can’t wait to taste it. I need it now.” It should be laughable, how thickly she’s laying it on, but she’s been torturing him for hours now, and he’s certainly not laughing. 

She’s worked herself up too, though, so she doesn’t linger over the dessert as long as Ben probably fears she would, and he fairly throws down a stack of bills, not willing to wait for the restaurant to process his credit card, before tugging her out to where their driver for the evening is waiting.

She slides in next to Ben, ready to continue teasing him behind the privacy of the divider, when he growls at her.

“If you don’t want me to ravage you in the back of this car, you will sit on the other side of this car like a good girl.”

Fuck. If she wasn’t soaked before, she is now, and while Rey would really, really like to encourage this side of Ben, she can’t trust that he won’t revert to form if given the reins.

“I think you’re operating under a misunderstanding, Ben,” and he does look confused at this. “You seem to think that how tonight goes is up to you, which is surprising, really, considering how things have gone so far. But I understand that you may not be operating with your full faculties.” At this, she gives a wicked smile and runs the side of her hand along his length and, oh my, the blood flow to his brain is _certainly _compromised.

“So I’m going to explain exactly what’s going to happen. We’re going to go back to your place,” she sucks the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, “you’re going to strip for me, like the _good boy_ you are,” he groans as she licks a stripe up his neck, “and then I’m going to have my wicked, wicked way with you.” She tugs on his earlobe with her teeth and his whimper gives her all the encouragement she needs to straddle him, her folded legs bracketing his thighs. 

Ben runs his hands roughly down her sides, squeezes her arse, and she can feel him grip the heels of her stilettos like they’re the last thing ground him to earth. 

“Fuck, Rey, you’re going to kill me.”

She hums in amusement but doesn’t bother replying. Her mouth is far too occupied licking and nipping every bit of exposed skin she can find. Ben is a panting, writhing mess underneath her, and thank god the driver decided to turn what should be a twenty-minute drive into maybe half that because, by the time they pull up to his house, she’s not sure either of them can hold out much longer.

She knows if she gives him half a chance, Ben will derail her plans for the evening, so she utters two words with the most commanding look she can muster: “Bedroom. Go.” 

For a moment, the heat flares in Ben’s eyes and she thinks he’s going to take her in his entryway, but then he tears his eyes from hers to follow her order. She waits the longest minute of her life before following him and is deliciously pleased to find he remembered her earlier instructions to strip. His body puts the Greek marbles to shame.

“Oh, Ben. You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you?” 

He nods mutely. This turn will be delicate, but they are both on edge, both desperate for this. She doesn’t think there’s going to be a better time to strike, and in any case, she can’t wait.

“I love that you gave me exactly what I asked for, Ben.” His eyes are liquid heat. “You’ll give me whatever I ask for, won’t you?”

She’s taken aback by the vehemence of his response, but she couldn’t ask for anything better than his gasped, pleading, “yes, Rey, please, let me.”

She pauses a moment. She needs his full attention, total concentration on her next words. 

“Good. Because I want you to fuck me, Ben. I want you to fuck me so hard I feel it in my throat. I want you to fuck me so hard I have trouble walking tomorrow. I want you to fuck me so hard you can’t possibly hold back.” 

She slides the zipper of her dress down, and with her last words, allows the dress to slip to the ground. 

“When I’m getting dressed tomorrow, I want to see the marks you left on me.”

He pounces on her, tossing her onto the bed with strength that is casual for him and heart-pounding for her. She doesn’t give him any leeway. 

“Now, Ben. I want you inside me _now.”_

He groans but doesn’t argue, moving to the nightstand and rolling on a condom. When he sees that she’s pulling her underwear to the side, that she intends for the dress to be the only thing she takes off, Rey could swear that Ben sways on his feet for a moment before climbing onto the bed. He’s too far from her, which doesn’t make sense until he grabs her leg and uses it to pull her to him, and fuck is that hot, the way he moves her to suit him.

He rubs his cock through her folds and she shouldn’t allow it, she told him to get straight to fucking her, but Christ it feels so good.

“You want it hard?”

“Yes,” and oh fuck, that definitely did not come out as an order, it was clearly a plea, and he heard it; his gaze is _searing._

“And what do you say when you want something, sweetheart?”

Fuck. But she does want it, so badly, he’s so close to where she wants him to be, and he has— he has this _look_ in his eyes, so maybe this can be their compromise. 

“Please fuck me hard. Please, I need your cock, plea—” but she doesn’t finish her sentence because he enters her in one smooth stroke and _holy fuck,_ is that good. She will give him anything he wants for this, and she knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Yes, please, Ben, fuck me just like that, please,” and he does, just like she asked, but it is even better than she thought it would be. It’s a pleasure just shy of pain, to be filled like this without being eased into it. She can’t hold back the cries that escape her each time he fucks into her, and since she’s not sure he’ll know those sounds mean she never wants this to stop, she tells him.

She can only get a word or two out at a time — if he keeps this up, he’ll fuck her across the bed soon — but it’s enough to get her point across. 

“Ben. So good. So. Fucking. Good. Fucking. Love. Your. Cock.”

At this, he makes a strangled sound, his hands clamp down on her waist, and he drives into her with a ferocity that takes her breath away — literally at first, and she might laugh if it didn’t feel so damn good. She hadn’t _really _expected him to be able to fuck her so hard she felt like she’d choke on it, she thought that was just a thing people said, but that’s what’s happening now, and suddenly Rey understands why some people are _very _into breath play. 

Ben must see her approaching climax on her face or sense it from the way she’s tightening around him, because, to her disappointment and then thrill, he pulls out, flips her over onto her stomach, and swats her arse, uttering a gruff, “Not yet,” before sliding back in. Fuck, he’s so deep like this and with the weight of him fucking her into the mattress, she's getting the most delicious friction against her clit. With every pass, his cock drags against her g-spot. When she bends her knees to dig the heels of her stilettos into his arse, the curse it draws out of him is almost as satisfying as his increased pace.

The feeling of him stretched out on top of her, his arms bracketing her, his weight on her, is encompassing. She doesn’t have to — can’t — think about anything but this. When he threads fingers through her hair, applying delicious tension to expose her neck to his teeth, it’s almost too much. And when he starts to suck the bruises she’d demanded from him into her neck, it _is_ too much. She arches into him and comes shuddering on his cock, his name a drawn-out moan on her lips. He’s only moments behind her, and she knows he’s lost to pleasure when he bites down on her neck with his final thrust. It’s instinct to clench around him.

He collapses on her and doesn’t quite manage to kiss her shoulder, but the brush of his lips back and forth is obviously meant to be an apology he somehow hasn’t realized isn’t needed. He gave her exactly what she’d asked for, and it had, impossibly, been better than she’d imagined.

She feels him start to gather himself, preparing to roll off her. Just this once, she allows herself to say, “No, don’t move yet. Just stay here.”

He’s warm, after all, and she’ll get up to go home soon. What’s a few more minutes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some more information about the restaurant they visit:**
> 
> The Michelin Guide provides an explanation for each restaurant’s star rating. You can view Providence’s Michelin rating [here](https://guide.michelin.com/us/en/california/hollywood/restaurant/providence); the Guide describes Providence as “California cuisine inspired by the flavors and ideas of Asia and the Mediterranean” that “features the freshest and most sustainable seafood”. The tasting menu changes seasonally; you can see the menu that was offered during Ben and Rey’s visit [here](https://web.archive.org/web/20190122131238/https://providencela.com/menus/dinner/). Rey is right; the passionfruit-banana ice cream would have been a wet, sticky mess if they’d tried to take it home 😉
> 
> **How much did their meal cost?**
> 
> $777.45 before tip (Chef’s tasting menu + wine pairing = $355 + 9.5% sales tax). Ben leaves $1000.


	27. i have been waiting

**March 25, 2019**

It’s far from the first time a commenter has tried to prompt Rey into confirming her relationship status. She and Ben have been suggestive in their posts and are photographed together all the time, of course, but so far, Poe hasn’t given them the go-ahead to make a formal declaration. Given how rabid the gossip magazines and entertainment sites have become, the strategy is paying off.

She expects Poe will let things remain ambiguous a while longer. She’s heard the first leg of Ben’s tour starts sometime in August, just before her album’s release, so they can’t drag this out forever or they’ll be broken up before they ever officially begin dating. Still, they have some time to fan the flames, so it’s a surprise to get the order from Poe to confirm their relationship status — but she trusts his judgment, and it’s easy enough to do.

Now that the day has come, she can admit she’s been waiting for it, too. Ben could probably tell her exactly how many days they’ve been doing this — he’s funny about things like that — but it’s definitely been less than three months. And she’d never complain about the endless speculation, the thinly-sourced articles, even the intrusive photographers, because they’d intentionally stoked this media firestorm, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing if the intensity eased up, just a bit.

The photograph isn’t one she recognizes; taken at a record label event, most likely, because she doesn’t get dolled up like that without reason, but she’s been so busy with rehearsals and recording and Ben that everything’s started to blur together. She screenshots the tweet to send it to Ben; the emoji-heart is so over the top, she can’t help but laugh. But she hesitates before sending the text. Is the commenter so wrong? Not that the way Ben looks at her means anything — he’s been practicing that look from the beginning, now that she thinks about it — but they do support each other, in their own way, don’t they?

In the beginning, the way Ben flaunted his knowledge of the music industry infuriated her; she’d assumed he did it to make her feel that she was outclassed, but now she’s seen how he actually treats people he doesn’t think are worth his time. Just last night, he’d been complaining about the audacity of an artist who had approached him about a potential collaboration (fortunately, she’d found a mutually satisfactory way to distract him from that seemingly-endless diatribe — one that put his mouth to far better use). The point is, she knows now that Ben doesn’t give his time or attention to anything he considers unworthy. He’d gone about it in the worst possible way in the beginning, but looking back, she can see that all those rude comments about breath control (and she’d proved him wrong on that point last night, too) had been well-intentioned. 

And sure, it’s in his best interest for her to do well since they’re temporarily tied together, but still, it’s kind of nice to have someone invested in her success like this. She gets the feeling he likes it too, knowing there’s someone not on his payroll who’s as excited about his preorder numbers as he is. And— well, their plan is working exactly as they hoped.


	28. this is enough

**March 29, 2019**

They’re papped on their way into LAX, and the post is up before Rey and Ben have even made it onto the airplane.

She hadn’t really been surprised when Ben insisted on booking first-class tickets; he’d said something about having more miles than he knew what to do with, and as she collapses into the leather seat, she can admit it’s an indulgence she could quickly get accustomed to. To be fair to Ben, she can’t imagine the contortions he’d have to resort to in order to fit into the economy seats further back in the plane. The five and a half hour flight passes faster than she expects, and she’s able to catch a few hours of reasonably decent sleep, although— it’s silly, because she doesn’t sleep over at Ben’s, so it’s not like she’s used to resting her head on his shoulder; it was just a surprise, realizing that the dividers between the first-class seats don’t go up.

When they touch-down smoothly, she smiles softly and the words slip out without much thought.

“No text, this time.”

She doesn’t quite feel like she deserves the brilliant smile Ben gives her, or his hungry kiss.

“No, not this time.”

“I mean, you’ll still text Leia, of course.” Does she sound as flustered as she feels? Probably, given Ben’s smile. 

“Of course. Leia.” And he does text his mother then, just as he’s told Rey he always has, even when their relationship was at its most strained, and it gives her time to collect herself. At least they’re in public. For all Ben knows, the last few minutes were an act for her, just like they were for him.

The next hours slip past quickly; Ben spends most of them scribbling away in his composition book as a local makeup artist helps her get ready. And while she certainly plans to have words with Poe later about his presumption about booking them together without at least running it by her, she can admit it would have looked a bit implausible if they’d booked separate rooms; it’s not the ‘50s after all, and the suite technically does have two bedrooms. Though based on the look Ben gives her when she emerges in her dress, she doubts the second one will see any use. 

She expected to be nervous for their first major public appearance as an official couple, but somehow over the last months, Ben’s become a steadying influence. She hopes it’s the same, at least a little, for him.

Leia is the first woman to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice; the first time, of course, with Millennium Falcon. The only drawback to the format is that artists are never permitted to perform more than three songs; one of Leia’s selections is obvious, but Rey’s excited to find out what the other two will be.

Leia kicks off the show with a rendition of “Stand Back” that Rey can’t help but think must carry more emotion than when she had first composed it in the early years of her relationship with Han. 

When Chewie fills in for Han’s role on “Leather and Lace,” the fact that he is not at all a vocalist doesn’t seem to matter to a soul in the room. Rey’s confident she’s not the only person weeping as he sings in the place of his beloved, too-soon-departed friend. 

When Rey hears the opening chords of “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around,” she’s confused. Leia’s closed every solo performance with “Edge of Seventeen” for decades now. Still, she can’t hold back a giggle when one of Ben’s — Kylo’s? — former bandmates joins his mom on stage to sing the male vocalist’s part.

Ben leans in to whisper, “Mom and I figured it would be weird for me to sing this one with her.”

Um, yeah, she doesn’t want to think about the Oedipal mess that would bring up. But this— this is the perfect way to lighten the mood. She wonders if Ben will see it for what it is; a way for Leia to honor her son’s career without referencing his former band by name and breaching his contract. Judging from his smile, and the way he squeezes her hand, she thinks he’s received the message.

Leia does close out with the song she’s best known for, and it brings the house down. Rey can only give a moment’s thought to the significance of that — that in addition to being the first woman inducted twice, Leia’s the first artist to be given a fourth song — before she’s swept away in the music. The performance is followed by a sort of mini-biopic of Leia’s career, and Ben’s grip on her hand is like iron when, inevitably, his father’s face appears on screen. Her favorite parts are the glimpses of baby Ben that crop up in the early years of Leia’s solo career. 

She thinks Ben’s slipped off to compose himself until he appears on stage; then she realizes, of course, that he’s introducing his mother for her acceptance speech. It’s a side of Ben she’s never seen. He’s eloquent and practiced, but warm. She wonders who else in the audience sees the depth of emotion underlying his words. If having a member of the Knights of Ren accompany her tonight was Leia’s gift to her son, this is Ben returning it in spades.

Leia’s speech is perfectly her; candid, free-flowing, self-deprecating yet fiercely proud of her iconic status. It’s everything Rey could ask of her idol, and so much more than she’d ever dreamed of from a boss.

The fact that the rest of the show blurs together is a testament to how far she’s come; it wasn’t that long ago when all of this would have seemed so improbable. 

Finn is here, somewhere, and she wonders if it’s common for people in his position to travel to events like this, or if Poe is subtly rewarding her for playing her role so well. Either way, it doesn’t much matter; she’d hardly dared to dream of this for herself, but knowing her best friend got to experience this, too? It’s more than she could ask for. The night couldn’t be more perfect—at least, that's what she thinks until she realizes their car isn’t headed back to the hotel, and Ben informs her, flashing a dimpled grin, that the night is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What was Rey and Ben’s first-class experience like?**
> 
> They flew first-class on Alaska Air’s 7:00 AM LAX to NYC flight, getting in at 3:30 PM local time. You can check out a review of the experience [here](https://www.travelcodex.com/review-alaska-airlines-first-class-los-angeles-to-new-york/).
> 
> **How does an artist get inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?**
> 
> An artist is eligible for the hall of fame 25 years after their first commercial release. The nominating committee creates a shortlist and sends the ballot to members of the music industry and artists — including every living Rock Hall inductee — and historians; more than 1,000 people in total receive ballots. Beginning in 2012, fans were given the chance to vote for nominees; the top five vote-getters in the public poll form one ballot, which is weighted the same as the rest of the submitted ballots.
> 
> **What artists are Millennium Falcon and Leia based on?**
> 
> Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks, respectively. Stevie Nicks really was the first woman to be inducted into the RNRHOF twice, and that did happen on March 29, 2019, in the Barclay Arena in New York City. She was accompanied by Harry Styles (of boyband One Direction fame) on “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around”.
> 
> **What was this year’s ceremony like?**
> 
> A great run-down and photos are available [here](https://ultimateclassicrock.com/rock-hall-of-fame-2019-photos/).
> 
> **Lyrics to:**
> 
>   * [”Stand Back”](https://genius.com/Stevie-nicks-stand-back-lyrics) (I read it to describe a partner who is, at times, physically and/or emotionally unavailable; it seems to me that this song might have been even more painful to sing after the permanent loss of a partner); I can’t find a high-quality clip from the RNR performance, but this [performance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sg3SAI8h9p8) from 2008 demonstrates the caliber of performance Stevie Nicks continues to deliver 40+ years into her career.
>   * [”Leather and Lace”](https://genius.com/Stevie-nicks-leather-and-lace-lyrics); the original rendition with Stevie Nicks & Don Henley can be heard [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLEMiDrdSKU)
> 
> [”Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around”](https://genius.com/Stevie-nicks-stop-draggin-my-heart-around-lyrics); this song is so Han & Leia from the beginning of their relationship that it hurts me. (Stevie Nicks: Make a meal of some bright-eyed kid / You need someone looking after you | Tom Petty: I know you really wanna tell me goodbye / I know you really wanna be your own girl). Hear Stevie Nicks and Harry Styles’ performance at the HOF [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy5M0sl8_wA) (Tom Petty passed in 2017, before Stevie’s induction).
> 
>   * [”Edge of Seventeen”](https://genius.com/Stevie-nicks-edge-of-seventeen-lyrics); also from the [HOF performance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ugr-NqZoGA)! Fun fact: The song’s title came from a conversation Stevie had with Tom Petty’s first wife, Jane, who was describing meeting her husband ‘at the age of seventeen’; however, Jane’s thick Southern accent led Stevie to mishear her, and so the song’s title was born. Stevie ended up writing a song about grief (including her grief over the death of John Lennon), rather than the Petty’s relationship, but retained the song’s title.


	29. late at night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Slang:** dgaf—don’t give a fuck

**March 30, 2019**

  
  
  
  


By the time she and Ben get back to their hotel room after their detour to Webster Hall, it’s closer to Saturday morning than Friday night, but Rey’s still flying high on adrenaline. She spins giddy circles in their suite, knowing she must look ridiculous but unable to bring herself to care. Ben surprises her by catching her hand to pull her in for a dance. When they finally slow, she waits for it to turn into something more, but he only rests his head on her shoulder. The exhaustion of the day finally settles into her bones then — with how early they’d had to leave for the airport, they’ve probably been up for 24 hours by now — so they exchange sleepy smiles and get ready for bed. 

Getting into bed with Ben without a planned exit, without even his lips on her skin to distract from the oddness of the situation, is harder than it should be, but even she knows that slinking off to the suite’s second bedroom would be far more awkward than lying in silence next to him. Thankfully, he doesn’t let her stew for long.

“You know, there are a lot of moments from the beginning of my time with the Knights that slipped past me. Things I hardly remember that should have been etched into my memory. The first time I heard one of our songs on the radio, our first show, the first time we were nominated for a big award.” 

With the heavy hotel curtains blocking out the bright lights of the city, it’s impossible to make out his expression, but she feels him shift to face her. 

“Rey, I hope you’ll remember tonight, because the way the crowd lit up for you…I mean, those people _know_ music, and this— Rey, this is right where it begins.”

She’s been hearing that, telling herself that — that things are about to _begin _for her — for years. It shouldn’t make her heart race when the same words come from Ben, but that doesn’t stop adrenaline from coursing through her body and she resigns herself to a sleepless night. Instead, it’s as if the night passes in the blink of an eye. She wakes Saturday morning feeling far better rested than is reasonable, given the sleep deficit and jet lag they’re still been operating on — though it doesn’t hurt that Ben’s already let in the room service she only vaguely remembers placing an order for the night before.

Leia has plans to spend the weekend catching up with family friends, and Rey assumes Ben will tag along with his mother, but instead he spends the entire day taking her and Finn on a tour of the city. They do all the obnoxious tourist things that Ben pretends to hate, though Rey can’t help noticing that he comes up with half the items on their list. 

It seems Poe’s media strategy is working; though Rey and Ben had been equally, if not more, conspicuous when they’d gone to Disneyland together just three weeks ago, they’re asked for more photos in the time it takes them to cross Rockefeller Plaza than they were in the entire day they spent at the theme park. Finn’s a godsend in dealing with fans, hustling people along without making them feel hustled. He extracts his price that night, though; with an ungodly early morning flight on Sunday, Finn decides not to bother going to sleep until he’s on the plane, and he cons Rey and Ben into keeping him company until it’s time for him to head to the airport. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics to [Dreams](https://genius.com/Fleetwood-mac-dreams-lyrics). Stevie Nicks wrote this song during a turbulent time for Fleetwood Mac; her relationship with band member Lindsey Buckingham was coming to an end, band members Christine and John McVie were divorcing, and drummer Mick Fleetwood was also in the middle of a divorce. It was, however, the band's only number one song.
> 
> I'd like to imagine that in this AU, although Leia might have written the song during a time of frustration, she cared more about the fact that he always came back than the fact that he sometimes needed to get away; after all, they stayed together.
> 
> **Why were Finn, Rey, and Ben at Rockefeller Plaza?**
> 
> To visit the Top of the Rock observation deck at the top of Rockefeller Center. While the Empire State Building is a more common tourist destination, its 102nd floor (top) observation deck was closed during March 2019 (it reopened on October 12, 2019, after ten months of renovations), and having recently hosted SNL, Ben has connections at 30 Rock who'd likely be happy to make his visit go smoothly. Plus, the Empire State Building is an iconic part of the NYC skyline, and you can't appreciate it if you're standing in it.


	30. my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized belatedly that I was including events that took place on March 30 in this chapter, so I revised to put them in Chapter 29, where they belong; sorry about that!
> 
> **nsfw**

**March 31, 2019**

After Finn leaves for his early morning flight, it’s even easier to sleep with Ben without _sleeping_ with him, since Rey collapses into their hotel bed, bone-tired, before Ben even finishes brushing his teeth. She’s too exhausted, and, admittedly, a little too tipsy, to bother finding pajamas, so she settles for stripping off her dress. 

She always sleeps on her side, so that’s not new, but waking up Sunday morning to Ben’s hand spanning her stomach, feeling puffs of his breath on the exposed skin of her shoulder — _that_ is very new. She tries to catalog what he’s wearing, if anything, without moving, not wanting to wake him. He’s not quite close enough for her to be certain whether he’s wearing pants, or even boxers, but surely if he were wearing a t-shirt, she’d feel the sleeves against her skin, wouldn’t she? It’s hard to resist curling back into him, but then, she thinks, why should she resist? They’re not— this isn’t— well, it is what it is, but they’re here, together, now, so why shouldn’t she find out what this whole morning sex thing is all about? It’s her one chance, after all. Besides, she doesn’t have to be _obvious_ about it.

She yawns and arches into him, only for him to chuckle. 

“I wondered how long it would take for you to admit that you’re awake.” He pulls her flush against him and she’s certain, now, that she’s the only one wearing anything. “Are you starving, or can I convince you to stay in bed a little longer?”

The sheet slips off them as his hand traces lazy, feather-light circuits up and down her thighs. The contrast between his obvious strength and the restraint he shows in that barely there contact is heady. Still, he’s given her the perfect opening, and she’s not one to let it pass by.

She hums in response to his question. “I don’t know, Ben. _Can_ you convince me to stay in bed?” Her answer is slightly breathier than she’d like, but given the growl she gets in response, she counts it as a point in her favor. 

She moves to turn towards him, but his hands keep her on her side and his teeth nip at her neck in gentle reproach.

“You haven’t given me a chance to convince you yet, Rey.”

She can’t control her shiver upon hearing the promise in his words. With a hand on her knee, he guides her to drape her leg over his, but even though she’s spread open now, that’s not where he directs his attention. Instead, his fingers roam up and down her leg, her side, her arm while his lips brush against her shoulder. It shouldn’t have this effect on her, these light touches nowhere special, but all she can think about is where she’d rather he touch her and she can’t understand what he’s waiting for, because she can _feel_ how hard he is.

When his name escapes her lips, it can’t be described as anything other than a whine.

“Did you decide you couldn’t wait for breakfast after all, sweetheart?”

What— what is he _saying?_

“Ben, stop teasing, _please_.” Fuck, she sounds as desperate as she feels, but he’s driving her wild and he’s barely even touched her yet. What is he _doing _to her?

“But I’m not teasing. You are sweet, Rey. So sweet.”

Even driven halfway to distraction, she can’t help but laugh at that. “I’m the furthest thing from—”

But he derails her by brushing his knuckles against the now-drenched scrap of black lace between her legs. “Right here. So, so sweet. Should I prove it to you? Spend a few hours showing you how deliciously sweet you are?”

Her cunt clenches at that, and she can’t be blamed, she’s certain, for the curse that escapes her lips. She needs him to put action to his words.

“Christ, Rey, I can feel you. You’re aching for it, aren’t you?”

The only answer she can manage is his name, but it’s enough.

“Sweetheart, don’t you know by now? I’ll always give you what you need, but you have to tell me.” His voice is deceptively soothing, given what comes next. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He finally, finally pushes aside the lace and the feeling of his fingers on her clit is everything. “I’m going to get you off like this. Just like this. And if you’re good for me, then you can choose how you come. On my fingers,” he brushes them down her slit, “or my mouth,” he licks a stripe up her neck, “or my cock,” he pulls her even tighter against him to remind her of exactly what’s waiting for her.

She doesn’t quite understand his promise — or threat, that’s what it really is — until his fingers on her clit have driven her desperate. Her leg is locked around his and her hand is gripping his hair when she tells him she’s ready, beyond ready, to _please _fuck her, only for him to laugh.

“Weren’t you listening? Once like this, just this, then however you want.”

He’s not making sense, but, whatever, fine, she just needs— “Your fingers, then, Ben, I need something.”

“I know, sweetheart.” That fucking name, he’s still teasing her? “I know you do, and I’ll give you whatever you need, as soon as you come.”

Fuck, she’s so goddamn close. Why won’t he—

“Rey, I want to give you _everything_ you need, but I can only do that if you tell me what it is you need.” He’s using such a gentle tone for a man who seems set on torturing her. “So this time, you’re going to come aching for me to fill you.” She wants to howl, but somehow the sound is transformed into a moan. “And next time, you’ll tell me how you want it, and I’ll give it to you exactly like that.”

She’s convinced she can’t come like this, won’t _ever_ be able to come from this, no matter how good it feels, and Ben isn’t helping when he starts murmuring to her, with pretended sympathy, about how empty she must feel, how he wishes he could fill her, how much he wants to slide into her, feel her clench around him. 

“Ben, I can’t—” She’s practically wailing now, and he stretches over her to quiet her with a fierce kiss, his fingers on her clit never pausing.

“You can.” He says it as if it’s as certain as the sun rising in the east. “Do you know how I know?” It must be a rhetorical question because he hardly pauses. “Because even though you need to be filled so badly it _hurts,_ even though you want it so desperately that your cunt is clenching around _nothing,”_ he brushes the backs of his knuckles against her slit and her traitorous body proves he’s right, “not once have you tried to take matters into your own hands.”

“Instead, you’ve laid here, doing exactly what I wanted. You’ve been so _fucking_ good for me, and you’re going to keep being good. You’re going to come like this, and it’ll be torture for both of us, because there is only one feeling better than being inside you, and that’s feeling you come on me, but sweetheart, you’re going to tell me what you need from now on, won’t you?”

She’d agree to fucking anything right now, and she readily agrees to this.

“God, Rey, you’re perfect. So good. Fuck, I love— I love the way you feel, I love the way you sound, I love the way you taste. So good. So good for me.”

It’s that, somehow, that sends her over the edge. She’d thought if he managed to get her there, that it would be unsatisfying, or perhaps more relief than pleasure, but it feels so damned good that she forgives him every minute of torture in that instant. 

When he’d been putting her through that delicious agony, she’d planned to tell him afterward that she couldn’t wait any longer for breakfast, or at least to take him up on his offer to get her off with his mouth next. When the time comes, though, she’s not in the mood to deprive either of them, and he must have been planning, or hoping, for this answer, because he’s ready to slide home the moment she gives the word. Lying on their sides like this, his thick cock hits her exactly where she needs it every time. It truly is a work of art, and she thinks wildly that they should put a bronze of it in one of those museums he’d taken them to yesterday. 

She might worry about the message it sends to Ben, how quickly she’s back on the brink, except that she hears him mutter a ‘thank fuck’ that she’s pretty sure wasn’t meant for her ears when her breathing starts to pick up. Before, she’d had been too overstimulated for him to keep up the pressure on her clit, but now she guides his hand down from where it had rested on her stomach. He understands her immediately, picking up a gentle but insistent rhythm. 

“Is that it?” Her moan is a clear enough indication of approval. “So good, showing me what you need.” His other arm is already curled around her waist, and when he slides his hand up to tweak her nipple through her bra, her cunt throbs in response, and then she’s lost. She urges Ben on, and he is a man of his word, because he gives her everything she needs, and she comes so hard she trembles.

For a moment, it is— it feels too intimate, for what they are, but when Ben comes, his grip on her is so tight it nearly hurts, and she’s relieved. He hasn’t forgotten that this isn’t a tender moments kind of thing, and neither has she. So when he keeps calling her sweetheart long after they’ve left the bed, it doesn’t bother her, because she knows he just wants her mind on the precise part of her body he’d called sweet.


	31. i'm not usually this way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references lyrics that “Rey” writes; to listen to the song the lyrics are taken from, press play on the embedded audio below and it will play in the same window (if you’ve downloaded this work or just prefer to listen in a separate window, there’s a link, along with the full lyrics, at the end of the chapter).

Your browser doesn’t support embedded audio; a link to the audio track is at the end of this chapter.

**April 1, 2019**

“Oh, hon—” Rose’s voice is saturated with compassion. She must think Rey is such a fool.

And that reaction is exactly why Rey had asked Rose to come in early Monday morning to help workshop her new song. Snippets of lyrics had been coming to her all weekend, but on the flight home from New York yesterday afternoon, the song had practically demanded to be written — she’d even had a fairly clear sense of what the arrangement should sound like — and she’d been glad for the separation between seats in first-class. Rey would never have been able to get this song on paper if she’d thought Ben might have been looking over her shoulder; it’s hard enough to meet Rose’s eyes now. 

But Rose has the wrong idea, and Rey doesn't want her to get carried away with it, so before she can say more, Rey speaks up. She pretends to misunderstand Rose’s words; it’s easier for both of them that way.

“I know! I know!” Rey says with a little laugh. “The lyrics are total crap, aren’t they? You know I don’t do that love bullshit, but I thought that maybe with this whole Ben thing, I’d gotten enough practice faking it to be able to bluff my way through writing a love song, too.” She gives Rose a sheepish smile. “I mean, I was hoping our fans might go for it, but I’m guessing from your reaction that it’s pretty obviously bullshit.”

“Oh!” Rose’s face scrunches adorably. “No…no, that’s not it at all.” She’s scrutinizing Rey closely. Rey wonders what she’s looking for, whether it’s something Rose is scared to find or is hoping to see. “Have you shown these lyrics to anyone else?”

Rey shakes her head. She certainly wasn’t bringing these lyrics to Ben, and although she and Luke have a fine working relationship, she’s never felt quite the same around him since Ben explained how things went so wrong between them. Finn is wonderful, of course, but he’s no musician. It’s not that Rose isn’t well-suited to help with this, but she’s also Rey’s only real option.

“Rey, this is really good. I’d bet my salary that if you recorded it as is, it would do numbers. And pretty much anything you do at this point, people are going to look for a connection with Ben, but definitely anything about a relationship and falling in love. There’s just no avoiding that, and you know, fans will be fans. But I guess what I’m concerned about is, if you don’t make at least a few changes to the lyrics, I’m worried that even people who know you are going to think this is how you really feel about Ben. I’m worried _Ben_ will think it’s how you feel about him, and if it’s not…” Rose trails off, searching Rey’s face for confirmation.

“No! Definitely not!” Rey laughs. “I’m glad to hear that I pulled it off, but yeah, no, I wouldn’t want to confuse things like that. I mean, I already have that line about it being a mutual thing, so you don’t have to worry about Ben thinking it’s autobiographical—”

Rose’s ‘yeah’ sounds anything but confident. Maybe the song really is garbage and Rose is just looking for a way to discourage her from using it without saying so outright?

“—But obviously I’m open to other changes if you think it’s salvageable.” 

Rey’s not used to feeling so uncertain about her music, about anything really. This is why she’s glad Finn is her only friend; the more people you let yourself lean on, the more people whose opinions matter to you, the more people have power over you.

But this time, at least, Rose doesn’t make her regret having asked for help.

“Salvageable? Are you kidding? It’s going to be a smash!” Rose says with a broad grin. “Now, let’s get to work, Jackson!”

By the time they finish, they’ve added in references to the love interest wearing tube socks, smoking, and having a girlfriend. Ridiculously, the biggest sticking point is over the socks — Rose’s idea, but such a turn off for Rey that she caves only when Rose points out fans will be scouring the Internet for pictures of Ben in tube socks and will probably resort to creating them if (for Ben’s sake, she hopes _when_) they find out the photos don’t exist. With these changes, Rey’s confident no one who really knows her or Ben will think this song is a three and a half minute confessional. It’s just a song, and if she and Rose have anything to say about it, it’ll be a hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics to “Is There Somewhere”, the song discussed in this chapter, post- edits:**
> 
> You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room  
Flashing those eyes like highway signs  
Light one up and hand it over, rest your head upon my shoulder  
I just wanna feel your lips against my skin
> 
> White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the nightlife  
You told me this is right where it begins  
But your lips hang heavy underneath me  
And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me
> 
> I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go  
Is there somewhere you can meet me?  
'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings  
And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing
> 
> You're writing lines about me; romantic poetry  
Your girl's got red in her cheeks, 'cause we're something she can't see  
And I try to refrain but you're stuck in my brain  
And all I do is cry and complain because second's not the same
> 
> I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight  
I didn't mean to fall in love tonight  
You're looking like you fell in love tonight  
Could we pretend that we're in love?
> 
> I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight  
I didn't mean to fall in love tonight  
You're looking like you fell in love tonight  
Could we pretend that we're in love?
> 
> To listen to Halsey’s performance of the song in a separate window, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686SmDtBOu8).


	32. i don’t know how it gets better than this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play.
> 
> ****Note****: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.

** **June 6, 2019** **

Rey’s surprised when Ben adds his own comment after retweeting her link; she can’t remember the last time either of them posted about the other without discussing it in advance.

By now, she knows Ben. She knows he takes this 'collaboration' seriously, knows he can be trusted, so even if the tweet had flopped, she wouldn't have been upset with him for sending it without talking to her first. But it's not an issue; he nailed it, and Rose’s prediction comes true: they break the internet, or at least their corner of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's rendition of “Dreams” (from Halsey’s 2016 performance at Bonnaroo):**
> 
> So there you go again, you say you want your freedom  
Well, who am I to keep you down?  
It's only right for you to play the way you feel it  
But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
> 
> Like a heartbeat drives you mad  
In the stillness of remembering what you had  
And what you lost and what you had, oh, and what you lost
> 
> Thunder only happens when it's raining  
Players only love you when they're playing  
Say, women, they will come and they will go  
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know, you'll know
> 
> If you prefer to play the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/aMttuhNAw_0); to listen to Halsey’s full cover, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PaflYR1kXgg). (The photograph used in the backdrop for the video is a young Carrie Fisher; the overall look of the backdrop is based on Fleetwood Mac's for Dreams, as shown [here](https://images.genius.com/cef4e2f520d592b26170001372ea2ab3.640x635x1.jpg)).
> 
> **What is Ben referencing?**
> 
> The lyrics that Ben references, and that the Reylos quote, are from the incomparable “Everywhere.” You can listen to the song [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuYm3HX6row) or view the full lyrics [here](https://genius.com/Fleetwood-mac-everywhere-lyrics). Although I credited the song to Leia, who is based on Stevie Nicks, I took extra artistic liberties in this instance; “Everywhere” was actually penned (and lead vocals were performed) by Christine McVie, another member of Fleetwood Mac, who Millennium Falcon is based on.
> 
> I’m going to take advantage of my access to this space to recommend Paramore’s cover of “Everywhere”; it’s available [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mi8ogVMKdts) if you want to give it a listen. Paramore has nothing to do with this fic, I just love the cover.


	33. stay right here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to the regular beta assistance of [EquusGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl), I've been incredibly fortunate to have received input from [ohwise1ne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne) on this chapter; I'm more grateful than I can express!.
> 
> **Britishism:** Busking is the practice of playing music in public for tips. It's generally legal in England in any public space; licenses are required in some circumstances, including to play at Tube stations (for more on that, check out this [BBC article](https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-london-40865017).
> 
> **nsfw**

**April 7, 2019**

“So how are you holding up?” Ben asks.

Everyone else is so certain of how she feels that when they ask how she is, they don’t even wait for her to reply. But there are a lot of ways Ben’s not like everyone else, and this is one. His eyes are trained on her as he waits for her response.

“Honestly? I can’t believe we’ve only been in the studio for three weeks.” 

She can hear the weariness in her own voice. Rather than acknowledge that, though, she focuses on Ben. Even though it’s dim in the restaurant, it’s easy to see the sympathy in his expression from across the table.

“Give yourself credit, Rey." Ben's voice is encouraging but insistent, and when he leans towards her, it feels as though he's trying to underscore his words by putting the weight of his body behind them. "Three weeks of recording is like three months of normal time. And this is your first album. You must be exhausted.”

She has to admit that she hadn’t been prepared for how draining the process has been. She’d thought that because she was used to working herself to the bone, playing until her fingers hurt and her throat ached, she’d have no trouble with long days in the studio. After all, she’d spent years scraping an existence out of busking — starting each day hoping for the best, but knowing that no matter how slow things were, she couldn’t pack up, much less eat, until she had at least enough for that night’s fare home and tomorrow morning’s trip back into the city, just so she could do it all again. 

Somehow, though, Luke’s endless interruptions, asking for the most minuscule tweaks, seem infinitely harder to bear than those endless, damp days when she'd depended on securing attention, and tips, from people who were inclined to walk past her — even though the strain now is strictly psychological. She’s so tired, she’d swear she can feel it in the roots of her hair.

“It’s just—” She doesn’t want to sound like she’s complaining, never would have dreamt she’d be anything less than ecstatic about recording her first studio album, but if anyone will be understanding, it’s Ben. “It’s take after take after take and” — she’s glad for the privacy of their corner table when a sigh escapes — “sometimes I get what he’s going for, but half the time, I can’t even hear the difference. It seems like one of us must not know what we’re doing, and I can’t decide whether I hope it’s him or me." There's no way Ben doesn't hear the frustration and, worse, the resignation in her voice. "It’s just…it’s exhausting, to be constantly second-guessing everything.”

Ben works his jaw, deliberating on his response. “You know I’m the last person to defend him, but…he does know what he’s doing. And I know it feels strange, but what you’re describing is pretty normal. He’s asking you to change things for a reason; he has a vision for the song, and as your producer, he needs to feel like every layer, every note, is the best possible way to bring that vision to life.” 

She doesn’t miss the way they’re both tiptoeing around saying Luke’s name, or the fact that the more abstract the conversation is, the more confident Ben sounds. Everything he’s said so far makes sense, but she gets the feeling he’s not finished. He’s gotten a lot better at checking in to see if his advice is wanted, though, so she nods, encouraging him to continue.

“So every time he has you make a change, he’s listening for whether it gets him closer to that vision. And if he explained what he’s aiming for and how it fits into his overall goal, you’d be able to hear the same thing, but—”

“That would take time.” She doesn’t mean to interject, but it’s such a relief to finally be able to make sense of Luke’s process, she can’t hold back. 

Fortunately, if the brilliant smile he flashes her before continuing is any guide, Ben’s not offended by her interruption.

“Exactly, and worse, every time it happened, it would open the door for conversations about whether his concept for that element of the song is the same as yours, and you’d never get through a recording.”

“That…makes a lot of sense.” 

Ben’s always been like this; willing, even eager, to share his understanding of the industry with her, but she’s never appreciated it as much as she does at this moment. It’s probably a symptom of how overworked she’s feeling, but she’s absurdly grateful to have been paired with him — three months ago today, she realizes, and wonders if Ben noticed the date. Well, he’d chosen a nice restaurant tonight and they haven’t ordered dessert yet, so it’s not too late for a champagne toast. But first—

“That makes me feel” — she gives him a helpless sort of smile— “god, just, so much better. Thank you, Ben.”

“Of course.” His answering smile is soft, but his eyes search hers. “I never thought I’d say these words, but it’s important that you trust him — as a producer, at least.” His attempt at a wry smile looks more like a grimace, but the effort he’s making to set aside his feelings about Luke, for her sake, makes her chest ache. He’s not wrong, though.

“I know. I know, it’s just, after what you told me, it’s not easy.” 

He hadn’t spoken of it again after that phone call from New York, but she’d never gotten the image out of her head; Ben waking up to find his uncle standing over his bed while his guitar, notebooks, and emancipation petition went up in flames.

“Didn’t find his explanation convincing, huh?” Ben asks, in an affected tone of indifference. 

Months ago, she might have bought Ben’s cavalier act, but it’s so easy to see, now, how much her answer matters to him. She wouldn’t fare well if they were to start calling out the way they both avoid acknowledging their sore spots, though, so instead, she adopts a light-hearted tone.

“To be fair, it’s hard to provide a convincing explanation when you’re not asked to give one.”

At that, Ben gives up all pretense of being unaffected. “You didn’t ask him? But how do you know I wasn’t making it up?”

She should say that his imagination isn’t that good, she should remind him that he writes lyrics, not fiction, she should do something, anything, to turn down the intensity of this moment. Naturally, she does the opposite.

“Ben, of course I wouldn’t think that, how could I not believe you when—” 

_“Leia_ doesn’t even—” he tears his gaze away. “I don’t know what she believes, but it isn’t me. So we stopped talking about it, stopped talking about _him,_ and Leia doesn’t try to make me spend any more time near him than I absolutely have to.”

His mother hadn’t believed him, so, of course, she’s ‘Leia’ again. How could his own mother not have believed him?

There’s a lifetime of hurt in his quiet words. “He warned me, and Leia proved him right. He told me that night: no one would believe me.”

“But I do.”

She doesn’t think he’d be more stunned if she’d struck him. She sees him working through what she’s said, but whatever realization, or decision, he reaches, he doesn’t share it with her. The resolution in his eyes is replaced with a hungry look, and words to match. 

“Rey, I want you in my bed tonight.”

Was it presumptuous, that she’s assumed they’d end up there after dinner? But it’s been that way since they fell into bed together three weeks ago — not that she’s counting, it’s just that she’d started recording the next day, and naturally, she’s keeping track of her studio time. 

The past few minutes have been intense, and knowing that there’s something Ben’s not telling her is unsettling, but this, at least, she knows how to handle. She hums and slants him a coy smile. 

“I think that can be arranged.”

He does something she can’t quite catch, and suddenly the waiter appears with their check. Usually, he’s good about telegraphing his movements in places like this — he knows she’s not nearly as comfortable in these kinds of settings as he is, and he must have realized early on that she’d been watching to see which fork he was using and how he held his glass, because he’d started making it easy for her to see what he was doing — but the way he seems to bend people to his will without lifting a finger, without even speaking a word; she’s not sure she’ll ever fully grasp how he does that, much less be able to copy it. But perhaps it’s an untapped power of hers, just waiting to be awakened.

They’re in his car in a matter of minutes, and she’s glad she’ll never be required to capture the electricity of his touch, the heat she feels when his eyes catch hers, in words. It’s as if he’s sparked a connection between them, and she somehow knows every wicked, wonderful thought he’s having about what he wants to do with her tonight. She doesn’t realize that they haven’t spoken a word until he breaks the silence as they’re walking into his house.

“I’m not sure you understood me, before, Rey.” 

She’s always been drawn to his voice, but there’s a particular tone he uses in moments like this, when he’s asking if she’d like to turn off her brain for a bit and let him take the reins. There’s the underlying edge of command that will become even more prominent if she says yes, but she can hear the caution, the question in it, too. She hadn’t realized, at first, that he’d meant for her to. 

His hands on her waist, he crowds her against the wall, and she’s all too happy to finally feel the press of his body against hers in the darkened entryway. 

“Perhaps you weren’t paying attention before. Are you ready to listen to me now, Rey?” 

He follows his words with a drag of his teeth down her neck, not too hard, but not quite gentle either, and she arches into him.

He retraces his path with soothing kisses. “I’d like it if you did, but it’s not an…essential conversation, if you’re not in the mood.”

She knows that technically this is good etiquette. He’s right to ask if she wants to play. But having to acknowledge that she _does,_ even in this oblique manner, makes her squirm. It’s worth the temporary discomfort, though, because after the week — weeks — she’s had, not having to think is too tempting an offer to resist, especially given how she expects he’ll use the control she’s about to hand over.

“I’m, um, I’m ready to listen.”

She knows he wouldn’t have objected to either answer, but the sound that escapes him, practically a growl, makes it clear this is the one he hoped for. 

“Good girl.” The authority in his voice sends a thrill down her spine as his hands brush down her arms. “When I said I want you in my bed tonight, I meant exactly that. Not for an hour or two. For the night.”

“Ben” — and she plans to explain to him why it won’t work. She might have slept alright next to him — better than alright, if she’s being honest — when they’d been in New York, but that was certainly a fluke, because she doesn’t do the sleepover thing. But then—

“Rey, don’t you want to be good for me?”

“God, Ben, yes, but” — that doesn’t mean she wants to spend the night — “but my clothes.”

“Mhmm, let’s get them off you.”

“No, I meant— I don’t have clothes. To change into, I mean. For tomorrow. I’d have to get up too early. Let’s just have fun.”

“Oh, we’ll have fun.”

His voice is pure sin, and she realizes too late what she’s done. Ben is, if anything, even more impulsive than she is, but with the right motivation, he can be strategic, and by suggesting that a logistical issue is the only thing standing in his way, she’s just given him exactly the motivation he needs. 

“Your keys are in your bag?” She nods. “Good, put it on the table. Mitaka can come by later to get the keys and bring back a change of clothes.”

She bites her lip, but it’s not really a decision, not when Ben’s looking at her like he can’t wait to devour her. She slips out of his arms to follow his instructions; she’ll just tell him later that she’s changed her mind.

She sets down her bag and turns to see him stalking towards her, and when he reaches her a moment later, he pulls her to him roughly, lifting her to his height to capture her lips with his own. When she wraps her legs around his waist, it’s impossible to say what she likes best about his reaction: the way his arms cinch tighter around her, the bite of his teeth at her lower lip, or simply his casual display of strength.

“I’m going to take you to bed now, Rey. And you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

The thready voice assuring him that she will be good doesn’t sound like hers, but with Ben walking them to his room, it seems unimportant. 

Lying on Ben’s bed as he peels off her clothes, she almost feels like she’s been drugged. She’s losing time — he’s fully dressed one moment, and the next, there’s miles of skin to admire — and although she knows gravity is still functioning, it still feels like she’d float away if it weren’t for his hands and lips on her skin, the weight of his body pinning her down.

He makes his way down her body slowly and takes his time settling between her legs. 

With anyone else, she’d be trying to hurry the process along. It’s not that she keeps score, exactly, but it’s always felt a little selfish, or maybe unfair, to let someone give her pleasure while giving them nothing in return. So there’s been a sense of urgency, as if she’s racing to come as quickly as she can. But Ben couldn’t make it clearer that this isn’t just for her. It’s as if he’s grateful for the opportunity to go down on her, and with plush lips like his and that aquiline nose, she’s halfway to thinking that maybe there really is nowhere he’d rather be than where he is right now, his face buried in her cunt, because he seems made for this.

Only the fact that she can’t bear to lose the feel of his mouth on her, even for a moment, stops her from using her grip on his hair to pull his head away to see how wrecked he must look. Just imagining it — his cheeks flushed, lips swollen — has her arching into him.

He groans, and she doesn’t know whether it’s because of her actions, the rush of moisture she can feel, or if it’s simply that he loves everything about this. Tonight, though, it’s not her job to worry about any of that, and at that thought — that she doesn’t need to wonder whether Ben is enjoying this, whether she should be doing something differently, or what will happen next, because Ben will handle all of it — her body melts into the bed.

It’s divine, to be able to just let herself enjoy this without pushing herself towards the finish line. To luxuriate in every sensation. To savor the journey. Ben’s deliberate pace ensures she feels every millimeter each time he slides his fingers into her, and his mouth is a wonder. Licking, sucking, kissing, lapping at her clit.

She says _please_ when she needs more_,_ and _yes_ means _don’t stop_, but when she comes, hands probably pulling his hair too hard and legs certainly gripping his head too tight, she’s chanting his name, and what that means, she can’t say. 

When he looks up at her, fingers still buried in her cunt as the aftershocks run through her, gently lapping at her clit as she comes down, he doesn’t look like the cat that got the proverbial cream. He just looks— happy. And maybe it’s the lassitude of the endorphins running through her body, but she wonders whether it would be so bad to have her clothes brought over in the morning. She won’t have to deal with I-5 traffic if she stays at Ben’s. It makes sense, really. 

So she returns his smile, and they have the soft, slow sex that Ben likes. It’s still not quite comfortable for her, but it’s much easier since she’s figured it out. Ben’s just— he’s been alone, for so long. It’s no wonder he craves touch. And when he looks at her like galaxies shine in her eyes, when he touches her like her skin is covered in stardust he can’t bear to disturb, when he calls her sweetheart, those things are probably casual — meaningless, even — to someone who’d grown up thinking Han and Leia’s relationship was the norm. There are literally movies about his parents— how the two of them sometimes couldn’t stand to be together, but could never bear to be apart for long. 

But while she understands this quirk of Ben’s perfectly in theory, it breaks down in practical application. Still, Rey has plenty of experience ruthlessly silencing the voice that brings up things she’d rather not think about. Besides, the worst sex she’s ever had with Ben still puts the best sex she’d had before him to shame. And when he tells her how good she is, how perfect, how he loves the way she feels — well, she has no objections to that.

Afterward, when he’s wrapped around her — Ben is like nothing so much as an overgrown koala holding onto a much too small eucalyptus tree — she brings up his plan for the morning.

“About tomorrow—”

His muscles tense, and then relax — first his arms, then his legs, then, with a heavy breath, his chest. “You changed your mind.”

Not in the way he thinks, but if she hadn’t already, she might now, because— because he’s not trying to convince her, he’s not complaining or even saying he’s disappointed, even though it’s clear from his despondent tone that he is. He just accepts that she’s leaving him. Because he expects it.

“Yeah. Finn’s been dropping really obvious hints about wanting to see your place, and he already has to come to the studio tomorrow — something about getting releases for that behind-the-scenes footage he recorded last week — so he can grab clothes for me and stop by here on his way. No need to have Mitaka go out to Atwater.” She’s not actually sure where Ben’s assistant lives, which she feels slightly bad about, but at the moment, it’s a secondary concern. “Certainly no need to have your assistant go through my underwear drawer,” she says with a shudder.

In his darkened bedroom, it’s hard to see the nuances of Ben’s expression, but she knows the moment he processes her words because he rolls them so she’s pinned beneath him and moves in for a consuming kiss. When he breaks away, his name is a whine on her lips, but he hushes her, reminding her how late — early, actually — it already is. He drops soothing kisses along her jaw before lying beside her and gathering her in his arms, pulling her back against his chest. She drops off to sleep with his lips on her neck and his arms wrapped around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What’s Atwater?**
> 
> The irreverent [hoodmaps.com](https://hoodmaps.com/los-angeles-neighborhood-map) tags Atwater (more properly, Atwater Village) with the descriptors “the next hipster area,” “LA’s hidden gem,” “Costco” (there’s a Costco), and “lesbians having kids.” For a slightly more serious take on Atwater, consider [this guide to the neighborhood](https://www.neighborhoods.com/blog/a-newcomers-guide-to-atwater-village). In short, Atwater is walkable, fairly diverse, and boasts some great restaurants and nightlife options, plus access to the LA River and mountains for outdoorsy types.
> 
> **Is traffic really that bad?**
> 
> Yeah. Going between Rey and Finn’s apartment in Atwater and Ben’s place in Hollywood Hills (the Hills) could take anywhere from 20 to 50 minutes; the I-5 backs up easily, and so do the alternate routes. In terms of her commute to the studio, which is in Hollywood Hills West, on a weekday morning, Rey might be able to get there from Atwater in as little as 30 minutes, but she’d need to give herself at least an hour to be safe; again, Rey’s best bet will probably be the I-5, but she’d be smart to check each time to see if accidents or other mishaps make one route better than her usual on a particular day. From Ben’s house, the drive to the studio would only take 10 to 15 minutes (and she wouldn’t have to get on I-5). You can see why Rey would be tempted to spend the night (solely for efficiency reasons, of course).


	34. capture it, remember it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to the regular beta assistance of **EquusGirl**, **ohwise1ne** provided input on this chapter; I'm so grateful to them both!
> 
> This chapter references a song that Rey plays; to listen to the song as performed by Halsey, press play on the embedded audio below and it will play in the same window (if you’ve downloaded this work or just prefer to listen in a separate window, there’s a link, along with the full lyrics, at the end of the chapter).

**April 12, 2019**

It’s easy enough to make the decision not to sleep over at Ben’s on Monday. She might have been hypnotized…dicknotized…before, but Finn doesn’t have a reason to come into the studio on Tuesday, and the idea of allowing a practical stranger to paw through her things, even someone as sweet as Mitaka, is a non-starter. But that night, after dinner near Griffith Park and dessert at Ben’s — a little chocolate syrup and a lot of him — her drive home is nightmarish. When she shoves a change of clothes in her bag Tuesday morning, she pretends she’s just keeping her options open, but Ben’s the only one who’s surprised when she agrees to spend the night. And then it just…keeps happening.

It’s not just the convenience, although an average eleven-minute commute to Luke’s in-home studio doesn’t hurt. She’d already known Ben’s sheets made hers feel like burlap, but his towels are a revelation, and she likes his shampoo and conditioner even more than the floral stuff she’d tried in their fancy New York hotel. Plus, he likes all the same food she does; his pantry and fridge are full of her favorites, along with things she’s never tried before but certainly won’t say no to.

When her alarm goes off far too early on Friday, she knows before she opens her eyes that Ben isn’t in bed; it’s a king bed — he’s too tall for anything else — so it’s theoretically big enough for them to have their own space, but Ben’s proved himself incapable of keeping his skin from hers if she’s within touching distance, and— well, they fit nicely together. It’s surprising how quickly she’s becoming used to it.

The explanation for Ben’s absence appears in the form of a black paper box. Her brain is still moving slowly, and her nose processes the sugar-sweet smell of berries, chocolate, and, she thinks, vanilla before she can make sense of the yellow lettering.

“Is that— did you— are those—”

The words are slow to come but her mind is working quickly, trying to figure out the likelihood that Ben _doesn’t_ plan to share whatever he’s carrying. The odds seem low, but she’s not going to just assume, so she doesn’t pounce on the box like she wants to.

Ben’s laughter is gentle. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. Yes, it’s Fōnuts, and yes, they’re for you. Happy add day, Rey.”

Her stomach swoops in a way that has nothing to do with hunger. Did she do something to make him think she expected special treatment?

“Ben, you didn’t have to— I didn’t— I mean, it’s not that big of a—”

“Rey Middle Name Jackson, if you try to tell me the first time you hear one of your songs on commercial radio is not a big deal, you will not get one bite of these doughnuts.”

She can’t help but laugh at— well, all of it. Ben’s mock-serious voice, the smile he’s trying and failing to hide, even what he’s called her. Rey ‘Middle Name’ Jackson. Not one she’s heard before.

“Deal.” She’s even worse at hiding her smile than he is. “I won’t say a word, and you hand over the goods.”

Ben accepts her bargain with pretended ill-humor. 

“That was a terrible bargain,” he grumbles. “You never talk when there’s food in front of you. I should have at least gotten you to agree to tell me your middle name.”

She hums happily after swallowing a bite of peanut butter-chocolate doughnut that is redefining delicious — Americans are absurd in many ways, but their overly sweet breakfasts are one indulgence she’s more than happy to go along with.

“You already know it. Or close, anyway. I don’t have a middle name. Although Phasma did warn me not to put anything in that spot on the visa forms or else they’d think whatever I put was actually my middle name. Did you know you can change your name when you immigrate?” Ben’s mouth is full and she doesn’t really feel like waiting for him to respond; there’s a raspberry doughnut calling her name. “Anyway, Phasma told me about a woman who needed help getting her name changed because she’d put ‘None’ down, so when she became a citizen, all of her paperwork said, like, ‘Leia None Organa.’”

He chuckles around a bite of his vanilla doughnut and they return to eating, but she catches him giving her an odd sort of smile. It’s like he’s somehow turned the way he has sex into a look — soft, almost reverent, but with a hint of hesitation, or perhaps bewilderment. Her imagination supplies the image of a lottery winner who can’t quite believe his luck, half-certain he’s made a mistake, or worse, it’s all a joke. 

Usually, she enjoys this brain quirk of hers — her habit of inventing stories for the people around her — but today, it’s an irritant, because whatever confused Ben, or whatever he’s thinking about, it’s not how fortunate he is to have her there. More importantly, she wouldn’t want to be the focus of those types of thoughts. To matter that much to someone — that kind of pressure would be— would be awful.

She looks away from him, but when she sees he’s brought her guitar case into his bedroom, she shoots him a questioning glance.

“C’mon Rey, don’t you think I’ve earned the right to hear it live one more time before the studio version floods the airwaves?”

She might be able to laugh at his overdone tone if his pouty lips weren’t so distracting. It’s a good thing he doesn’t use that puppy dog expression too often. If he realizes how effective it is, she’s in trouble, so she replies in a teasing voice.

“I don’t know, Ben. If the conversion rate is one orgasm for one minute of singing, I’m afraid that last night’s performance doesn’t quite get you there. The song’s longer than two minutes….”

Ben has no problem with all manner of dirty talk, but apparently, her deadpan delivery caught him off guard because he almost chokes on his doughnut, and she’s not sure if it’s embarrassment or his briefly constricted airflow that has the tips of his ears turning red.

“Christ, Rey, I meant getting you breakfast.” He recovers quickly, though, with a sly look on his face and arms reaching for her. “Though I’m more than happy to earn that third minute right now….”

She squeaks and lunges away from him and towards her guitar. “No, no, no, I’m going to be tight on time as it is! I didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn to be late to an on-air interview.” Once she’s safely out of his frankly absurd wingspan, she can’t resist throwing him a wink. “You can just owe me one.”

Your browser doesn’t support embedded audio; a link to the audio track is at the end of this chapter.

She’s been performing her entire life and singing for crowds for more than a decade, but it’s strangely intimate to play to an audience of one. This song is like so many of hers; a mix of lyrics that are painfully honest and those that she’d drawn from her imagination. She’s played it so many times that if someone slipped a guitar into her hands while she was sleeping, she’d probably start to pick out the chords without even stirring, but she pretends to need to focus on her hands; she’s not going to look at Ben when she sings the words, “saying that I love him but I know I'm gonna leave him.”

The final notes are still hanging in the air when he pulls the guitar from her hands and tackles her to the bed with a searing kiss.

“God, Rey, I can’t wait for everyone to know how amazing you are.”

It’s the kind of thing Finn would say. The kind of thing Ben doesn’t need to say. But Ben doesn’t need to celebrate days like today either. He doesn’t need to listen to her complain when a day at the recording studio goes too long. He doesn’t need to invite her when he drives out of the city to look at the stars. He doesn’t need to make sure she can see what fork he uses when they’re eating oysters. He doesn’t need to do a lot of things that he does. 

It’s too bad they don’t have time to fool around before she has to go into the studio, or she’d show her appreciation.

Ben won’t let her try to find an East Coast station playing her song while she’s getting ready. He’s particular about what counts: she has to hear it for the first time in a car. Ideally, it would be on FM radio, but since it’s too early for any local stations to be playing new music, he’s being ‘flexible’; as he drives her to the radio station’s studio in Miracle Mile, he tunes into an NYC station on Sirius. 

She pretends to find him ridiculous, but her heart races every time the song changes. Then, it happens. She’s squeezing Ben’s hand so hard she’d worry about hurting him, but his grip is just as tight. She hardly hears the deejay’s chatter, but they definitely mention her name, and then the opening notes of her song start to play. Suddenly, it’s— it’s _real_ in a way it hasn’t been until now, and fuck, she’s crying, but god, it’s happening, it’s happening, and she’s so glad she let Ben make a big deal out of this, because right now — sitting in his car, their hands welded together, the tears in her eyes the only thing keeping her from seeing the grin she knows is on his face — this, she’ll never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Links and lyrics to “Ghost,” performed by Halsey:**
> 
> To listen to the acoustic version Rey plays for Ben (the same version embedded above) in a new window, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_DYQWK79mo). For the radio version, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBI93SUfirc). Lyrics are [here](https://genius.com/Halsey-ghost-lyrics).
> 
> **What are fōnuts?**
> 
> [Fōnuts](https://fonuts.com/) is a [Zagat-rated](https://www.zagat.com/r/fonuts-los-angeles) shop offering faux (baked) doughnuts. (They usually don’t open until 8 AM, so Mitaka might’ve had to heavily imply that the doughnuts would be featured in Ben's social media to get them to make an exception…).
> 
> **How does Rey's song get on the radio?**
> 
> That's the task of Resistance Records' Promotion Manager and a team of Promo Reps, who are responsible for cultivating relationships with music and program directors at radio stations. Effectively, Promo Reps are sales agents, radio stations are their customers, and each spin of the song is a sale.
> 
> At least a month before the day this chapter takes place (the "add" date, because it's the date that radio stations are permitted to add the song to their playlists), the Promotion Manager would have instructed their Promo Reps to submit Rey's single to the stations of interest (those that are most likely to give the song airtime, in the markets that will provide the greatest benefit), and then over the following weeks, confirm it was received, make the case for airtime with the station's directors, and get commitments from stations to add it to their playlist. For Rey, there's a strong case to be made because of how well the song's already done on YouTube and Rey's strong social media following and frequent press coverage.
> 
> Rey's team offered for her to record a transition—"This is Rey Jackson, and you're listening to Hot 101.3"—if the station committed to promoting her new single; those arrangements are how she and Ben knew that, at some point, the station they were listening to would play her song.
> 
> A Promo Rep also helped set up the on-air interview at the local station for add day. Rey had to get up early because she wants to be on air during the 6 AM to 10 AM time slot when most people tune in.
> 
> **Who gets paid when a radio station plays a song?**
> 
> It depends!
> 
> Songwriters
> 
> Everyone—AM/FM, internet, and satellite stations—pays publishing (aka performance) royalties. The royalties are collected by the public performance organizations (PROs)—ASCAP, BMI, SESAC, and GMR—which pass them on to the songwriter and the songwriter's publishing company, if relevant.
> 
> Publishers handle publication of songbooks and sheet music and can assist with filing copyrights, finding recording artists, and placing songs on soundtracks and TV. They typically get 30–50% of the songwriter's royalties.
> 
> _How much do stations pay to play songs?_
> 
> It varies; as an example, for a blanket license to play music written by any and every ASCAP member, radio stations pay 1.75% of their revenue.
> 
> _How much do songwriters get paid?_
> 
> The amount the PRO collects in royalties that cycle, after deducting operating expenses and, for SESAC and GMR, fees (ASCAP and BMI are non-profits) is divided among all members of the PRO according to a formula that varies slightly between the PROs. Generally, for radio, the formula is based on the number of plays weighted by the number of stations carrying the broadcast.
> 
> Performers and Record Companies
> 
> By law, publishing royalties are the only royalty AM/FM stations pay. Internet and satellite stations also have to pay mechanical royalties to performers, including session musicians and backing vocalists, and to the sound recording copyright holder (usually, the record label). It's a point of contention that internet and satellite stations have to pay royalties that AM/FM stations don't.
> 
> A caveat to the above? Any of the original copyright holders can sell their rights.
> 
> **All this is a lengthy build-up to the following point:** It's a bit funny that in Ben's ideal world, they would’ve heard Rey's song on FM first. Rey writes her own songs, so she’s paid no matter where her songs are played, but she's paid twice when they're played on via satellite or Internet radio. Like most boy bands, though, the vast majority of KOR's songs were written by people outside the band, so for the first 10 years of his career, Ben's royalties from FM radio were minimal—although maybe it's not so strange that Ben would be especially proud to hear Rey's song on FM radio since, unlike him, she's making money from those plays from the start.


	35. fear/less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning: **This chapter touches on themes related to childhood food insecurity. You can skip direct mention of it by stopping when you get to the first set of asterisks (***) and resuming reading at the second set of asterisks. 
> 
> If you prefer not to read new information regarding Luke’s confrontation with Ben over his emancipation, initially addressed in Chapter 12, skip the paragraph that begins “He seems to push his next words out.” If you prefer not to read anything relating to the confrontation, including information addressed in previous chapters, skip the following paragraphs and resume reading with “That decides it.”
> 
> **Britishism:** RP, or Received Pronunciation, is an accent of English spoken in the UK; it’s also known as BBC English or Queen’s English. It’s not associated with a particular geographical area, but rather with a particular social class. Some estimates have only 3% of the population using RP, but among that number are Judi Dench, Helen Mirren, Queen Elizabeth, and Prince Charles. It’s associated with education, prestige, and authority, but also privilege and arrogance. Prince Charles’ sons William and Harry speak with a more modern version of RP that is considered slightly more relaxed — and therefore less stuffy — than traditional RP, but nevertheless still quite posh (for example, they pronounce the word “poor” as a single syllable where Prince Charles and the Queen would use two syllables: poo-er). 
> 
> In this chapter, Rey doesn’t distinguish between traditional and modern RP, but for the sake of accuracy, I’ll note that, like Wills and Harry, both Daisy Ridley and Gwendoline Christie have a modern RP accent — in real life and in their Star Wars roles.
> 
> Special thanks to Brit [@BSib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSib/pseuds/BSib) for her invaluable contributions on all of the above!
> 
> Finally, I am so, so grateful to the multi-talented [diasterisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/pseuds/diasterisms), for the gift of the gorgeous moodboard below.

**April 20, 2019**

Ben’s shown her how to use his blender — twice, actually, which she refuses to feel embarrassed about; it has more complex programming than the first space shuttle that made it to the moon. The point is, Rey _could _make a smoothie…but what she really wants is cereal, and there’s only enough for one more bowl. As soon as she hears the water turn off, she knocks on the bathroom door and confirms what she suspected; Ben’s already eaten breakfast.

She doesn’t run to the kitchen, but she doesn’t quite manage to keep her pace to a walk, either. It’s a struggle to be patient, but the chocolatey goodness is even better when she’s given the cereal a little time to soften up in milk, and anyway, it’s a waste to shovel down something so delicious. ***Scarfing food reminds her too much of the placements where she’d had to eat quickly because otherwise there’d be no food left for her. Of the times when she’d raced to swallow, not wanting to give her taste buds time to process that the food was going off — because despite her roiling stomach’s complaints, any food was better than none. So she doesn’t eat quickly anymore if she can help it — but she’s already had to wait for Ben to finish showering and it’s put her on edge; even the faintest scratch of hunger too easily brings to mind the memory of its savagely clawed grip.***

But then Ben pads into the kitchen, towel slung around his waist, hair still damp, and for a moment, breakfast is forgotten. His pecs are the size of plates, and she just wants to— lick them, definitely, and that is at least somewhat normal, but also, god, rub her face on them? Run her hands down his sides, follow the path of his v-cut, and get rid of the towel that’s standing between her and what she wants. How does he do this to her? Sometimes she suspects he’s surreptitiously trying to drive her wild, but right now, she’s certain he’s not intentionally doing so. He doesn’t seem to have a clue that his existence alone is a provocation and it’s entirely unfair for many reasons, including that her lady bits are almost certainly going to strike if she tries for another round so soon. 

With willpower she didn’t know she had, she tears her gaze away from his deliciously-toned body. He’s been awake for a while, but he’s still looking at her with soft, sleepy eyes.

“I see you’ve found the cereal…again,” he says with a quirked brow.

“Yeah…um, yes?” It comes out as a question as her heart starts beating in double time. 

He’d said it was fine. Anything in the kitchen, he’d said. She’s sure of it, because she didn’t believe it until he’d insisted, until he’d said she was offending him by continuing to ask instead of just taking what she wanted, as if she thought he might say no. But now she feels like she might lose the breakfast it turns out she shouldn’t have eaten in the first place, and he doesn’t even know the worst of it yet. At least he’s getting a glass of water, so she doesn’t have to meet his eyes when she makes her confession. 

“This is actually, um, the last bowl. That’s why I asked? If you’d had breakfast?” She can’t stop turning statements into questions. “I’ll get more, though, before tomorrow,” she blurts out. “You won’t even notice it’s missing.”

“Rey, c’mon, I was just teasing you.” He’s leaning against the fridge with a fond smile on his face; he certainly doesn’t _seem_ upset. “I don’t understand how you can eat that junk, but if you like it, I’m happy.”

Maybe if her heart wasn’t still racing, she’d respond to the latter half of his statement instead of the former. Then again, maybe not. 

“It’s not junk!” She takes a big spoonful to prove her point — and okay, the nutritional value might be low, but it’s _so good,_ why have the Americans been keeping this a secret? — and then realizes his hypocrisy. “And how can you criticize Cookie Crisps when you eat them too? This cereal came from your cupboard!” she says, gesturing with her spoon.

“Yeah, and I got it for you, my little Cookie Monster.” He laughs as he walks over to squeeze her shoulders and drop a kiss on her head before sitting down next to her. “I saw that Costco-sized box at your apartment and figured it was a pretty safe bet. I also thought you might not be aware that it comes in normal-sized boxes.” He tilts his head. “Are you aware of that, Rey? That Americans do, in fact, sell things in reasonably-sized packages?” he asks, struggling to keep a straight face.

He didn’t need to buy cereal for her. She certainly hadn’t _asked_ him to. She can pay for her own groceries; she’s always paid her own way, _always,_ but trying to get Ben to be reasonable about something like this is like talking to a brick wall. He acts as though she’s ridiculous for wanting to chip in — so she skips over the ‘he bought cereal specifically for her’ issue, even though it makes her skin itch. Adrenaline’s still coursing through her body, and arguing with him about it would only be more frustrating than usual. There’s one thing she doesn’t have to let slide, though.

“I will not listen to you insult my Costco-sized boxes, Ben,” she says firmly. “That shop is brilliant.” She intends to explain the matter in a straightforward fashion, as if speaking to a stubborn and not particularly sharp child, but she quickly loses her matter-of-fact tone in the face of the wonders of warehouse shopping. “Everything’s discounted, and Rose lets me buy gift cards from her so I don’t even have to pay for a membership. Ben, you can make a meal out of their samples!”

She doesn’t understand his frown; she’s serious about the magic of Costco, but it’s clear that she’s not really upset about him for joking about it, isn’t it?

“Rey, what was your advance?” he asks darkly.

She’s been waxing rhapsodic about bulk shopping, but he’s acting as though he expects her next words to be a declaration of war; he’s sitting at his kitchen table with a towel around his waist, and yet he looks as though he’s itching to ride into battle on her behalf. 

He’s being utterly ridiculous — he knows an advance is just a loan, and while she doesn’t expect someone like Ben to clip coupons, is he really so out-of-touch that he thinks her appreciation for a bargain means she must have gotten a bad deal from the label? 

She’s not going to — would never — bring up the fact that of the two of them, he’s the one who has a track record of agreeing to terrible deals, but even without touching on that, Ben is clueless when it comes to money. She’s fairly certain he couldn’t even tell her how much a gallon of milk costs. And he knows how careful she is. Yet he’s suggesting that _she_ wouldn’t have negotiated the best possible deal for herself? 

There’s zero chance a conversation on this topic would go well, but fortunately, they don’t need to have it, because there’s an easy out. 

“Ben, you of all people should be familiar with the concept of a non-disclosure agreement.” She tries to keep the exasperation from her voice, she’s not sure how successful she is.

He huffs, grumbles something she can’t make out, and disappears down the hallway. He returns in less than a minute, disappointingly fully clothed.

“Here, I sent you a payment request,” he says, holding out her phone. “Accept it. Please?” 

It turns out that the mere thought of Benjamin Organa Solo using a phone app to send her a payment request is enough to break through her irritation. She snorts in delighted disbelief, which draws an affronted response from Ben.

“I know how to use apps!”

She can't explain how, but she’s certain that not only did he have to remind himself to say ‘apps,’ not ‘applications,’ he's torn between congratulating himself for remembering and complaining about the needless truncation of words. It’s difficult not to let her small smile become an outright grin, but she restrains herself and instead arches a skeptical brow. 

“Fine,” he says, sounding ridiculously put-upon, “Arnie made fun of me, and then he nagged me, and _then_ he downloaded the thing for me and taught me how to use it.” His dramatic sigh is accompanied by an eye roll. “But I can do it myself now, which is what matters, so accept the charge, please?”

He doesn’t explain why, but it’s only for $1 and her curiosity is piqued, so she goes along with it.

He smiles — will the force of his smiles ever dull? — and says, “Perfect. Now that I’m your manager—”

“My what?!” she asks in laughing disbelief.

“Your manager, but only on a temporary basis — and by the way, as your temporary manager, I recommend you read contracts more carefully, Rey,” he says, with pursed lips and a significant look at her phone.

She sees now that the payment request had a caption, _BOS Management Fee,_ and now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

“Like I was saying, now that I’m your temporary manager, you can tell me the terms of your contract; whatever sort of NDA you signed, there’s no way it doesn’t allow your manager to know the details,” he says with a smug smile that she recognizes from photos of his father.

He’s ridiculous, but— this clearly matters to him, or he would have let it go. Still, she can’t.

“Ben, no!” she laughs. “No matter what my NDA may or may not say, your mother would kill me.”

“My mother would be proud; who do you think taught me this trick?” he smirks.

That self-satisfied smile might fool someone who doesn’t know him as well as she’s come to, but his eyes betray him; she can tell he’s genuinely anxious about the terms of her deal. 

She can feel irritation creep in, but she reminds herself of something Finn’s said to her more than once: “I can be concerned _for_ you without being concerned _by_ you.” Right. Ben probably didn’t mean to imply that she did a bad job negotiating her deal. When she thinks about it in those terms, actually, it’s pretty clear that he didn’t mean to imply that. And he was nice about the whole cereal thing. She can give him some reassurance, if that’s what he wants.

She consciously relaxes her shoulders and takes a deep breath. “Listen, Ben, you don’t have to worry. I promise my advance was generous. I just, I don’t want to spend more than I need to, you know?” 

She’s actually not sure he does understand, or can — they’d grown up so differently.

“Okay, just,” — he’s going to hurt his jaw, clenching and unclenching it like that — “will you at least tell me who negotiated the contract for you?” 

She hesitates. “I’m— I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

The color disappears from his face and his words come out in a rush. 

“It wasn’t— Rey, tell me it wasn’t Luke.” He looks at her with panicked eyes, but doesn’t give her a chance to respond. “Not that it’s— it’s not your fault, we can fix it, I’ll help you, but you can’t trust him, that deal—”

She interrupts before he works himself up further.

“Ben, no! It’s not him, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I said that, but it’s not him.” She wants to pull Ben’s hands away from where he’s tugging at his hair, but it feels like overstepping. She wrings her own hands together to keep herself from reaching out. “I promise, it’s not Luke.”

She’s just wrapped up five weeks of recording at her producer’s house, and yet this is the first time they’ve said his name in months — not since that night in February when Ben had explained everything to her.

He takes a few deep breaths, visibly trying to calm himself, but while he’s stopped abusing his hair, he’s still clenching and unclenching his fists; she wonders if he’s even aware of the reflexive movement. 

“Okay.” He says with a heavy exhale. “Okay, sorry, I just—” he meets her gaze and something about his expression seems almost anguished. His next words are vehement. “Rey, there is no way that deal would have been fair to you.” 

She swallows heavily; she’s not sure if there’s anyone else she’d say these words to, but she finds herself quietly asking him if he’d like to talk about it. It hurts to hear his curt laugh. 

“I guess losing my shit like that means I probably _should_, huh?” Another sigh escapes him and he flexes his jaw. “That night when…you know.” 

She nods to help him along; maybe it feels more intense for him, too, to have this conversation in person. As it is, he’s having trouble maintaining eye contact. 

“He told me that…that—”

He’s struggling to get the words out, but one thing is already evident: Ben isn’t angry, like she’d expected — no, his shaking voice, crumpled brow, and searching eyes make clear that he’s still grappling with whatever it is his uncle had said, almost ten years later. 

He seems to physically push his next words out. “He told me it would be better for his sister to have no son at all than one who’d turned his back on her. And that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.”

Her sharp intake of breath sounds so loud in the silence of his kitchen, but Ben doesn’t react. He’s hunched over, gaze fixed on his lap. She wants to take his hand, but is that okay? 

When he continues, his voice is quiet. “I don’t know if….” He shakes his head, and she wonders how much of his internal debate he’s going to share with her. “Maybe he didn’t mean it the way I took it.” 

She’s not sure if he’s trying to convince her or himself, or maybe this is something he’s heard from Leia. His clenched jaw doesn’t provide any clues, and he’s still not looking at her.

“But I’d just woken up to the fire and him standing over me and I was,” he swallows heavily. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it still breaks when he says, “I was scared shitless.” 

That decides it. She reaches out to take Ben’s hand and his answering grip is tight. It is okay, then. 

He finally meets her eyes again, allowing her to see that his are wet. He clears his throat and tries to shake it off. “I’m sorry, Rey, I’m probably just being dramatic. You—”

“Ben. No.” She didn’t intend for her words to come out so forcefully, but she doesn’t regret it. “Please don’t—” she has to swallow, try again. “You don’t expect me to pretend things are better than they are. Just” — why does she feel a little like crying? — “give me the same courtesy, okay?”

“Okay, Rey. Okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his forehead against hers. He takes a couple of deep breaths before drawing back and retaking her hand. 

“You’re right. It was awful. But right now, I just want to focus on the fact that he’s not the one who handled your contract.” He swallows. “It’s just, it’s one thing to have him produce your album. You and Leia want the same things there, or close enough, you know?”

She squeezes his hand and nods in reply.

“But when I thought he did your contract, too…. There’s just no way he would have been fair to you. He will always, _always_ put Leia first, and it would kill me if— I mean, you know that I’ve been on the wrong side of a shitty contract.” He gives her a half-hearted laugh, and she pretends not to notice him swiping at his wet eyes. 

She doesn’t know how to comfort people, and an awful, terrible part of her resents him for putting her in this situation, even as her rational side reminds her that she’d practically invited this by asking if he wanted to talk and insisting that he not gloss over it for her sake. It’s just that she already knows she doesn’t work the same way other people do, that she’s lacking something fundamental, and she doesn’t like to be reminded of it. 

Maybe he’d be as happy to change topics as she would?

“Well,” she says as she attempts a smile, but doubts it comes anywhere close to landing, “on the upside, I’m a lot less nervous now to tell you that it was Lando Calrissian who helped with my contract.”

Ben snorts. “Lando? You were nervous telling me it was Lando?” He sounds incredulous. “Lando’s the slipperiest bastard in town.” Somehow he makes it sound like the highest compliment a person could offer. “I couldn’t have picked anyone better prepared to go up against Leia.” 

It’s a relief to see his smile; better still that it reaches his eyes.

“Yeah, he and your mom were” — she doesn’t have a word for it, really — “weird?” she says with a shrug. “And from the way she acted during negotiations, I thought the only person Phasma hated more than me was Lando. Then, when I came in to fill out my visa stuff, she was so nice to me.”

Ben raises a brow.

“Well, you know, Phasma-nice. But she and Lando had been all, ‘That’s unacceptable, Ms. Phasma.’” She brushes lint off an imaginary cape with a sly, self-satisfied smile, then shifts roles.

When under pressure, Phasma gives the eerie impression of a barely-animated wax model; Rey does her best to sit ramrod-straight. “‘Be reasonable, Mr. Calrissian.’” The words are articulated so sharply, they cut like finely honed blades. 

“‘Ms. Phasma,’” — it’s not easy to convey the sense of a swagger without leaving her seat, but the smile Ben’s fighting suggests she’s not doing half-bad — “‘you don’t seem to be familiar with the meaning of the term deal-breaker.’” 

Her face settles into a mask of stone; only her lips move. “‘I’m afraid you don’t understand what it means to compromise, Mr. Calrissian.’” 

She can admit that she probably doesn’t pull off Lando’s baritone, but at the very least, her imitation of Gwen ought to be convincing. It had been a child’s foolish dream, thinking that the right accent alone would be enough to pass herself off as posh, but in her youth, she’d devoted real effort to developing a believable RP accent, and now it comes more naturally to her than the accent she’d started with. Ben’s given up resisting, his laughter suggesting she doesn’t quite nail either impression, but it’s so good to see him happy again, she doesn’t mind.

“I kept thinking the deal was going to fall apart, but the whole time, your mother was snickering.” She can hear her own bewilderment; she didn’t understand it then, and she still doesn’t now. “It didn’t seem like they were getting anywhere; it had been hours, and Lando had only given in on maybe three of Phasma’s asks. Then out of nowhere, Leia said, ‘I think that’ll do.’” The situation had been far too tense for her to find it funny at the time, but now, it makes Rey laugh. “I thought Phasma’s was going to go mad. She kept hissing at your mother about non-negotiables, but Leia just waved her away, told Lando she’d missed him, and said it was good to see him having fun again.”

“Yeah, he and my dad were thick as thieves.” Ben smiles, lost in a memory for a moment, before sobering. “Lando took losing him pretty hard, I think, but he’d never admit that. My mom said he just stopped coming around. I would’ve thought she’d have been angrier about it,” he muses. “She can be a force to be reckoned with when she’s mad.”

Her reply is soft. “She must have really missed him. I suppose that mattered more?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes her hand. “And she can be pretty forgiving, too.”

She’s pretty sure they’re not talking about Lando anymore; Ben had pulled his own disappearing act after his father’s death. He’d had his reasons, of course, but it couldn’t have been easy for Leia to bury her husband and lose her son in the span of a week.

There’s more than enough hurt to go around and— will he want to talk about this, too? There’s not really a graceful way to put a limit on this kind of conversation, is there? She wants to be there for him, but— she’s starting to feel a little claustrophobic, despite the fact that Ben’s kitchen is easily the size of her entire flat. She averts her eyes as she slips her hand from his. Hoping he won't question why she’s pulled away, she scratches an imaginary itch.

Maybe Ben sees through her and realizes she’s reached her limit for this kind of conversation or— or maybe he’s the one who’s approaching capacity. Either way, she’s grateful when he navigates them to a lighter topic.

“So, how did you wind up with Lando?”

Ben’s smile tells her he expects a story, and knowing Lando as well as he does, it’s no surprise; she doubts Lando enters many lives quietly. She wonders what it will take to convince Ben that her tale is true.

“Would you believe he approached me?”

She tries to sound flippant, but she doesn’t actually expect him to take her word for it — it had been almost impossible for her to believe, and she’d been there.

Ben’s lips curl up. “Of course he did. He heard your music and tracked you down, didn’t he?”

She’d already started trying to recall whether she texted Finn when Lando had first reached out to her — at least then, she’d have proof she could show Ben — but he seems totally unsurprised. Maybe…maybe Finn had been right, and it hadn’t been so ridiculous for someone like Lando to want to work with her. She belatedly nods, confirming his supposition.

“And let me guess, he didn’t bill you for his work on this deal?”

Ben sounds so satisfied, but now Rey feels pathetic; Lando told her he wasn’t going to charge her because he was sure she’d be back with more business. She— it’s so ridiculous; in hindsight, it’s obvious that he must say that to every new client, but she’d fallen for it. It’s not that she’s upset over whether some entertainment lawyer thinks she’s great, it’s _not,_ she just doesn’t like feeling like a fool.

“No, he didn’t.” She forces a bright smile. “I’m sure that’s common, though.”

“Not at all,” he says, flashing her a brilliant grin, “but Lando’s always had a good ear. Of course, you don’t _have _to use him for your next contract, but he’s always been a gambler. And with an artist like you, where anyone can see you’re going places? Comping you a few hours of his time is an easy bet.” 

Finn says things like that, and— and people who are paid to be nice to her or think they might have something to gain from it. But from Ben, who has nothing to gain, the words are harder to dismiss.

“That’s how he met my parents, actually. My dad sometimes complained that the hours Lando comped him were the most expensive ‘free’ thing he’d ever gotten in his life.” He smiles at the memory, and his voice is fond. “Other firms offered lower rates just so they could say that they repped Millennium Falcon, but my parents never considered going anywhere else.”

He chews his lip, then grabs his phone. “Well, it’s been an honor and a privilege, but I’m fairly certain it’s frowned upon for managers to be in relationships with their artists, so I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out, Rey,” he says with a smirk.

Her phone pings, and she sees he’s sent her one dollar with the caption _‘Management terminated, BOS releases all claims.’_ She can’t help but snort. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” he retorts. 

Her heart jumps and suddenly she understands something that’s always escaped her: why some people are warned away by red flags in a relationship, while others, like bulls in a fighting ring, can’t seem to resist the draw. The flutter in her belly, the racing pulse, the tight throat — they’re warning signs, obviously, but she can see how they could be mistaken for butterflies. She’s only able to tell the difference because she knows that those three words he said — _you love me_ — aren’t true; it would be disastrous if they were. 

Her revelation hasn’t taken more than a few seconds, but in that time, a blush like she’s never seen has flamed up his face. She takes mercy on him and plays it off. “What I love is this cereal,” she replies archly.

“Monster.” His reply is deadpan, but his relief is palpable.

She’s not sure why his response doesn’t settle the not-butterflies; he’s all but outright confirmed that he misspoke and is relieved that she didn’t read anything into it. The unsettled feeling is an annoyance, but one that will fade if she ignores it, so she resolves to do just that, and teases him back.

“Hey, you can’t downgrade me from Cookie Monster to just monster! At least Cookie Monster is cute.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re cute even though you eat disgusting cereal, Cookie Monster.”

She makes a mental note to go grocery shopping before she comes back to Ben’s that night. She chooses not to think about when it was, exactly, that spending the night at Ben’s went from an exception to an expectation, and instead focuses on the fact that while he might not take her money, she’s confident that if she brings food over, he won’t throw it away. This way, Ben won’t have to buy her ‘disgusting’ food, she won’t have to feel bad about not paying her own way, and they won’t have to have pointless arguments over it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What’s the deal with Rey’s obsession with Cookie Crisp?**
> 
> Cookie Crisp is a breakfast cereal made to [look and taste like cookies](https://cereals.generalmills.com/products/cookie-crisp/); while it’s sold in the UK, the recipe is slightly different from the version sold in the US—among other things, the US version has more sugar and salt. It’s not among the most popular of cereals, in the UK or the US, so Rey might not have seen it too often, or at all, if she did most of her grocery shopping in the sort of smaller corner shops that are typical in urban areas before moving to a place with easy access to Costco.
> 
> **What is Costco?**
> 
> Costco is a membership-only warehouse club; in other words, they offer merchandise in bulk quantities and/or sizes at a lower cost per unit as compared to retail prices, but only to customers who pay an annual fee for the right to shop there. There are ways to get around the membership restriction, and Rey mentions one of them: you don’t need to be a member to use a Costco gift card, so Rey buys gift cards from Rose, who is a member. While there are a few Costcos in the UK, they’re not nearly as common as they are in the US. There’s a Costco about a 1/4 of a mile from Rey’s apartment in Atwater.
> 
> **Would Ben’s $1 temporary management arrangement trick really hold up?**
> 
> Almost certainly. Leaving out lots of things that would appall legal experts (sorry to any reading this), the basic requirements for a contract are offer, acceptance, and consideration (payment is a common form of consideration). It’s clear that Ben _offered_ to act as a manager to Rey (he said so in his payment request) for the purpose of providing advice on the fairness of her record deal (implied by the context of his payment request). Rey paid him $1, so _consideration_ was given. At that time, she didn’t know what she was paying for, but arguably, she ratified the contract after the fact when she told Ben about the circumstances surrounding the negotiations. Even though they terminated the management agreement later, Rey can plausibly argue that Ben was acting as her manager when she disclosed information otherwise bound by the NDA.
> 
> Then there’s also the enforcement piece; this would almost certainly never be contested. Ben’s not going to reveal that he knows anything about Rey’s contract, and even if he did, Resistance wouldn’t enforce an NDA in this context—it’s intended to keep the details out of the press, not from people Rey is in close, personal relationships with.
> 
> **Why was Ben so worked up about Rey’s advance?**
> 
> Advances 101
> 
> Rey is expected to use the advance she received from Resistance Records to cover all costs needed to deliver her album master—essentially, recording and production costs—and she’s entitled to pocket any excess. 
> 
> Rey describes it as a loan, but it’s not a loan in the way most of us would think of one, because no matter how poorly her album does, she doesn’t have to return any leftover money. That’s why an advance is sometimes called a ‘minimum guarantee’—it’s the minimum the label will pay her. 
> 
> An advance is more commonly thought of as a pre-payment of royalties. This is why Rey calls it a loan; in her mind, it’s money she hasn’t earned yet (others might argue that she earned it by securing a record deal). Rey won’t start receiving royalty checks until Resistance has recouped the full amount of the advance they paid out. For some artists, this day never comes.
> 
> So what was Ben’s concern?
> 
> There’s an obvious issue for Rey if the advance isn’t enough to cover the costs of delivering a master plus her living expenses until her royalty checks start coming in. If she were to run out of money _before_ the master was delivered, the label would have an issue, too. In that case, the label would likely cover the costs needed to finish the master, but the expenses would be added to Rey’s outstanding balance—and, likely, penalties for exceeding the agreed-upon advance. 
> 
> While it’s not in the label’s interest to set the advance amount unreasonably low, the label doesn’t want to pay out advances any larger than it has to, either. An artist could flop, and even if that’s not a concern, compound interest means that paying an artist a dollar today is more expensive than paying them the same dollar a few years down the road. However, when there are multiple labels competing to secure an artist, labels will be more generous—with regard to the amount of the advance and other contract terms—to be competitive.
> 
> If Ben was thinking clearly, he would’ve realized that it’s extremely unlikely that Resistance underballed Rey—at the very least, he knows that she had offers from several labels—and even less likely that Rey blew through her advance.


	36. in a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter depicts a panic attack and briefly references the death of an original character, which occurred several years in the past. If you prefer not to read this but are comfortable with depictions of the aftermath of a panic attack, stop reading once you get to the first set of asterisks (***) and resume after the second set of asterisks.
> 
> **Britishism:**
> 
> _General Certificate of Education (GCE):_ The primary qualification to leave secondary school in England (and other Commonwealth countries). Students must return to the school where they sat the exam to receive their “results slip” on (for exams taken in June, results are received in August). Later, a formal certificate is mailed to the school, which the school then sends on to the (former) student. Unlike the U.S., there is no graduation ceremony at the secondary school level.

**April 23, 2019**

With recording wrapped up, Rey’s enjoying the opportunity to sleep in. It’s not that her days aren’t busy — there’s artwork for the album cover and tour merchandise to approve, the tour itself is coming together, and she’s doing interviews with everyone from _The New York Times_ to _TeenVogue_. There’s word _Billboard_ and _Rolling Stone_ are both considering longer pieces, but if those materialize, they’ll time it to coincide with her album release, so it will be a while before anything’s certain. On this particular Wednesday, though, there’s nothing pressing, which is why she doesn’t expect to wake up to a slew of text messages. It’s rare enough to receive a text from Resistance’s general counsel that Rey decides to read Phasma’s first.

She hasn’t fully woken up yet, so she’s slow to process; it feels as though her thoughts have to slog through a meter of mud instead of their usual smoothly paved pathways. The only words from Phasma’s message that make sense are “I’m sure Benjamin is familiar with this.” He’s not in bed and she doesn’t hear the shower, so she heads towards the kitchen, phone in hand, but has to step to the side of the hallway to avoid colliding with him. He’s racing towards their— towards his bedroom.

He skids to a stop and, even though she has yet to make sense of the strange start to her morning, she feels the corner of her lips draw up. He doesn’t match her smile, though, and she struggles to place his expression — she shouldn’t be expected to function before tea.

His eyes flick between hers, his lips pursed. “You haven’t seen it, then?”

“Seen what?” She yawns. “I came looking for you because Phasma sent me a strange text, and the only part of it that made any sense was something about you being familiar with ‘it,’ whatever it is,” she says with a shrug.

“Can I see what she said to you?” he asks, reaching for her phone before he catches himself, pulling back.

She hasn’t even looked at any of her other messages yet, but her sleep-haze is clearing enough for her to process that Ben is concerned, anxious even. Her screen is still open to Phasma’s text, so she hands over her phone. She starts to feel the first inkling of apprehension as his eyes scan the message.

“Rey, do you trust me?” He’s looking at her like she’s a frightened animal about to bolt.

***

He couldn’t be less reassuring, but there’s no reason she can think of that would merit this kind of behavior from him. But then she places the look he’s giving her. It’s the same somber expression she’d seen on the teacher who’d found Finn in the queue of students waiting to get their GCE results. The teacher who’d been sent to inform him his grandmother had— had collapsed, their teacher had said — a kindness, or had she just not wanted to be the one to tell him his grandmother was gone before the ambulance arrived? She can hear the woman's kind voice saying, _If you want to go directly to the hospital, we can send your results by post, Mr. Storm._ She hears the same voice shouting, _Where do you think you’re going, miss?_ as she and Finn raced hand-in-hand towards the door. A shot of panic seizes her heart.

“It’s not—“ Her throat is tight with fear, but she swallows it down, dreading the answer, but desperate to know. “Nothing’s happened to— to Finn?” she chokes out.

The room is swimming. Finn has to be okay, he has to, Finn is all she has, he _has_ to be—

“No, no, Finn’s okay!” Ben’s voice is urgent, but it somehow sounds like it’s coming from far away. “He’s fine, it’s nothing like that, Rey.”

What Ben’s saying is important, but it’s impossible to concentrate when she can’t catch her breath. She vaguely registers him crouching down to meet her wild eyes and gripping her arms, but it’s like these things are happening to someone else. She can’t— she can’t breathe.

“Rey, nothing happened to Finn. He’s fine. Everyone is fine. Please, I promise you.” 

He’s trying to calm her down, she thinks, but how can she be calm when Ben seems agonized? 

“Please, Rey, take some deep breaths for me,” he pleads. “I swear, Finn is fine.”

It becomes a mantra — “Finn is fine. Breathe, Rey. He’s fine. Breathe” — and she comes back to herself. First, she notices the weight of his hands, heavy on her arms, then how cold she is — she hadn’t bothered dressing, just slipped on one of his shirts, and his house is always frigid. Then the bubble that had seemed to mute his voice bursts and she can process what he’s been saying. 

Finn is fine. 

Everyone is fine. 

Everyone but her, maybe. Because her heart is still galloping, and she’s never had to devote conscious thought to breathing before. She copies Ben’s example, inhaling and exhaling at his steady pace. She realizes belatedly that he’s still crouched down, gripping her arms to hold her steady, and she’s about to tell him he can let go when he straightens and pulls her against his chest. He tucks her under his chin, cradling the back of her head in one hand and using the other to rub slow strokes up and down her back. It’s…soothing.

***

Once her breathing is back to normal, he guides her to sit down next to him on a couch in his formal living room. She can’t remember spending any time there; Ben uses it for interviews, getting hair and makeup done before events, and strategy meetings with his team; things he dreads, she realizes with a sinking feeling. It would be childish to drag her feet, but— she doesn’t need to know what he’s going to tell her to know that she’d rather not do this right now.

“I’m just going to say this, okay?” He looks pained by the prospect, and while the hand that’s holding hers is gentle, his shoulders are hunched, as if braced for a blow. 

She knows she should care about whatever it is that he’s obviously dreading telling her, but it’s hard to muster the energy. The adrenaline she’d felt when she’d thought something had happened to Finn is subsiding, and even though she doesn’t trust easily, she’s certain the only other circumstance that could genuinely upset her hasn’t happened; Ben would never cheat on her, even if she is only his fake girlfriend. With those possibilities out of the way, she wants nothing more than to curl up on his couch and sleep away the memory of whatever had just happened in his hallway.

She doesn’t mean to ignore his question, just got lost in thought, but it doesn’t seem to matter; he takes her lack of objection as agreement.

“One of the gossip magazines dug up some shit about how you grew up.” He looks like he’s going to be sick. “A UK-based one, so I guess they had access to public records about” — he swallows and looks away — “uh, about how you ended up in foster care, photos of the apartment building where, um, where you were found, the schools you went to.” He sounds miserable. “They got a few quotes from people who said they knew you. They might not have realized what kind of article it was going to be.”

Ben looks torn between wanting to wrap her in his arms and wanting to rip everyone involved with the article limb from limb.

“So what is it then?” That strange feeling from the hallway is back, but this time it’s her voice that sounds far away. “Should everyone keep their kids away from my music because I’m destined to go down the same path as my mother? Or is it a rags-to-riches story that everyone can feel good about? What’s the angle?”

She wants to tell Ben to stop chewing his lips but she’s not sure she could manage it without snapping at him. 

“Dameron called it, uh, tragedy porn?”

He says it like a question, but she knows what Poe meant. They will have taken what some people might see as a tragic past and focused on the worst parts of it, amped up the drama, made it seem as heart-wrenching as possible.

That’s— that’s fine. No one will boycott her music over that, so it’s perfectly fine.

“I can’t believe Phasma signed a text with a kiss over that.” It still feels as if someone else is reading her lines, as if she’s watching this happen from a distance, but that’s what deadpan humor sounds like, doesn’t it? 

“What are you” — Ben shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge an errant thought — “what are you _talking_ about?”

“We’re British,” she answers him, unblinking. “British people sign their texts with kisses.”

“That’s not what I meant. Shouldn’t we— don’t you want to talk about the article?” His brow is furrowed. “And, anyway, you don’t sign your texts with kisses.”

There’s _nothing_ to say about the article. 

“Yes, I do. Finn gets three kisses, because he’s Finn. Rose gets two. Your mum gets one if she’s texting me about Resistance and two if she’s texting me about—” ‘us’ doesn’t sound right, because there isn’t really a ‘them’, and, anyway, it seems weird to tell Ben that she and Leia sometime text about him, so she settles for “—other things.” Even that sounds awkward, so she pushes on to another example, hoping to distract him. “Poe and Hux get one or two, depending on how annoying they’re being. Phasma never uses kisses with me. I wouldn’t have thought she uses them with her own family. I mean, sure, she’s posh, but she’s still…Phasma.”

“Poe and Hux?” He echoes, belatedly. “But you don’t— with me—” he trails off, sounding strangely wounded.

It’s almost nice, to think about such a small thing. Not that the article is a _big_ thing, but this is something she can do something about. Maybe…maybe Ben isn’t so different from her. They both know this is a relationship — an arrangement — of convenience, but she’d had so few things of her own growing up, and she’d become fiercely possessive of what little she had as a result. And while Ben had grown up in the nearest thing to the lap of luxury she could imagine, he’d fought for scraps of attention, too, hadn’t he? It would have been impossible to believe just three months ago, but now, it wouldn’t surprise her if he feels the same way she does, or close to it — maybe, for however many more weeks they have together, he wants to pretend that if she could choose anyone, she would still choose him. Maybe he wants to pretend there’s someone who couldn’t bear to leave him behind. Maybe he wants to pretend she’s really his.

She shoves down the voice that asks why it is she refuses to find out exactly how long it is before he leaves for his tour.

“I just— we weren’t exactly at the exchanging kisses stage at the beginning, right?” She gives him a lop-sided smile that he valiantly tries to return. “And then it seemed like it would have been strange to start.” 

She gives him a more sincere smile this time. “They’re just X’s, Ben. You’re the only one I kiss.” She means it to be teasing, flirty, but somehow it comes out soft. Maybe it’s because he’d been so gentle with her before, when she’d been panicking over Finn. Maybe it’s because he’s looking at her as if he’s begging her to be gentle with him, too. 

It’s as if only a breath separates them, because she exhales, and then their lips are touching. It’s the slightest contact — their lips barely brush — and yet she feels the spark of it run through her. She cards her fingers through his hair and swings a leg over his lap to straddle him. On another morning, he’d pick her up and carry her to his bedroom. On another morning, they wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, discarding the few articles of clothing they’re wearing and making good use of the couch. Today, though, he looks at her like she is a goddess come to earth, and she— she wants nothing more than this — to be here in his arms, to be held by him. She doesn’t know how to describe it, because it feels wrong to say they don’t do anything more than kiss, as if there is anything _less _about this — about her name, whispered in a tone of awe, about his hands, holding her like she’s something precious, about his drugging kisses, making her forget about everything but him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rey’s not recording, so what’s happening with her music between now and when it’s released?**
> 
> It’s being mixed and mastered by (different) engineers, with input on the desired result from the producer and artist (Luke and Rey). 
> 
> Mixing brings the layers of audio together to make a final track. Mixing is also used to modify an existing track; this is especially important when the audio layers aren’t recorded separately, as is the case when a band records a song together, rather than each member recording their part separately. Mixing typically includes choosing the best parts of every take, fine-tuning the sound of each track that will be used (referred to as equalization, or EQ), balancing the levels of tracks, and panning tracks between speakers to create stereo sound. It’s also when effects like reverb and compression are added. For a great description of this process, check out [this article](https://www.soundonsound.com/people/secrets-mix-engineers-peter-mokran) about the mixing of the English-language version of “Jai Ho!” From _Slumdog Millionaire_.
> 
> Mastering is the process of balancing a collection of songs so that they work well in sequence; while mixing engineers focus on each track individually, mastering engineers look at the album as a whole. Beyond correcting differences in volume for each track, the mastering engineer ensures that the track order flows well (so a banger isn’t immediately followed by a ballad) balances the beginning and end of each song (“tops and tails”) and inserts gaps as needed (again, so that tracks transition smoothly); controls how loud and quiet each section is (the dynamic range); and addresses any issues that survive the mixing process, as well as producing a secure, reliable, commercially ready master.
> 
> **If someone else is mixing and mastering, what does Luke do?**
> 
> As a producer, Luke’s role can probably best be compared to a movie director. He oversees all aspects of the album’s production, so ultimately, he’s responsible for, among other things, selecting and booking the recording studio, session musicians and backup singers (if needed), and sound engineers; getting the musicians to play their best; ensuring the engineers’ work fits the intended style; and keeping the project on schedule and on budget. 
> 
> As Ben and Rey discussed earlier, the producer should have an artistic vision for the album, and ideally, the artist selects a producer whose vision they trust. This is especially important in the case of a group — otherwise disagreements between group members about whether a track [needs more cowbell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVsQLlk-T0s) waste precious, expensive studio time. However, in the case of solo acts, sometimes the producer’s role is less like a film director and more like a wedding planner who’s obligated to defer to the wishes of the groom- or bride-to-be; typically, the producer has been hired by the artist and could, theoretically, be fired at any time (although it would usually be a legal and logistical pain to do so, especially if there’s a target date for releasing the album). As you might guess, the odds that Rey would run up her studio fees to squabble with her producer are somewhere between zero and none.
> 
> **Why can’t Rey take legal action against the tabloid?**
> 
> Tabloids are rarely sued by celebrities, because doing so brings more attention to the article than it would have received in the first place. When it does happen, though, the two main claims are libel (publishing statements that are provably false) and invasion of privacy. 
> 
> The standard of proof for libel of a public figure, like a celebrity, is high; the publisher must have known the statement was false or have acted recklessly with regard to whether it was true or false. In this case, it appears that the information the magazine published about Rey is true or is couched in speculation; in other words, it’s not provably false.
> 
> Although the test to demonstrate intrusion of privacy is a complicated one, in essence, if the magazine can demonstrate that the facts they disclosed were publicly available (in contrast to printing private letters, for example), it’ll be nearly impossible for Rey to fight the publication of those facts. This is because it’s not considered an invasion of privacy to publish newsworthy information, and nearly everything about celebrities’ lives is considered newsworthy.
> 
> **Everything Rey says about Brits [signing off with X’s](http://thejunket.org/2014/01/issue-ten/x-please-were-british/) is true**, except that it’s unusual to use them with your boss, but Rey’s young, she has a personal relationship with Leia, and the music industry, like other creative fields, is far less formal than most other workplaces.


	37. a little more brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play. 
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.

**April 25, 2019**

The day the article came out, she’d been at her wits’ end with Ben. It’s just— he couldn’t let things _be. _Her stomach grumbled, so he had to get her something to eat immediately, no matter how much she’d protested that she just wanted to stay on his couch and kiss — and ignore the world — a little longer. If she’d realized that he’d start badgering her about the tabloid piece as soon as the last bite of breakfast crossed her lips, she would have turned breakfast into an all-day-buffet. It wasn’t until she finally snapped at him — reminding him that if she _wanted_ to talk about it, she would — that he’d finally slunk off.

When he’d approached her a few hours later, it was with a contrite expression and hands held up in the universal declaration of surrender. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he’d said, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “but I thought if you wanted to respond to the story in your Thursday cover, I could at least help with an idea for a clip and the arrangement. But no pressure.”

He’d looked like he wanted to repeat the last two words about twenty more times, but she’d cut him off and had him show her what he’d come up with. Of course, Ben being Ben, his suggestions were perfect. 

She hasn’t been able to stop saying it since Tuesday. Finn hasn’t called her on it — but then, he wouldn’t.

She’d managed an apology not long after Ben had shown her what he’d been working on; _I’m not sorry for what I said, but I’m sorry for how I said it_ seemed too honest, but _I’m sorry for earlier _hadn’t seemed honest enough. They’d been the only two options she could think of, though, so she’d gone with the latter, clearly the lesser of two evils. It had been enough; she hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself until she said the words, and then it was as if she’d pulled the plug on his tension as she’d watched it drain away — the muscles around his eyes softening first, his gaze warming, that soft smile she’s come to know emerging, and his shoulders relaxing. 

He’d set his drumsticks down — always careful, her Ben — and half-risen, reaching out for her, before seeming to remember himself. “Can I?”

And Ben, asking if he could hold her, somehow made her feel at once very small and very safe. She hadn’t answered him, and he’d sank back to his seat in front of the drums, misinterpreting her lack of response. For her purposes, though, it had worked, because at that moment, all she’d wanted was to curl up on his lap and forget about the world outside his arms, and when she’d picked her way around his kit, he’d been waiting for her.

It was a relief, not to have to second-guess it. Because they might not have said it in words, but they’d agreed to pretend, hadn’t they? For however long they had left, they would let each other pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday (performed by Halsey, slightly modified from Notorious B.I.G.’s “Juicy”):**
> 
> Born sinner, the opposite of a winner,  
‘Member when I used to eat sardines for dinner  
Peace to Ron G, Brucie B, Kid Capri  
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starski  
I'm blowin' up like you thought I would  
Call the crib, same number, same hood  
It's all good (‘uh)  
And if you don't know, now you know,  
We know very well  
Who we are  
So we hold it down  
When summer starts
> 
> If you prefer to listen to the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/u3LRrr0NvQw); to listen to Halsey’s full cover, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxdW79uOiqc).
> 
> **Who are Ron G, Brucie B, Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex, and Lovebug Starski?**
> 
> Five iconic New York hip-hop DJs Biggie was shouting out. For more on them, check out the [Genius annotations](https://genius.com/12353352) for Juicy.
> 
> **Public Service Announcement:**
> 
> Childhood food poverty is a real issue, and it’s not limited to the developing world. In both the U.S. and the U.K., children regularly go hungry. There are a number of reasons for this, but major factors include governments not devoting adequate resources to ensuring that qualifying children receive free and reduced-price lunches (the forms to request these meals are often written at a collegiate reading level), the fact that one meal a day is not adequate to provide sustaining nutrition to a growing child, and the fact that even children who do receive that meal will don’t receive it unless school is in session (in the U.K., the phenomenon is referred to as “holiday hunger”). In the U.S., at least, we’ve seen many reports of school districts singling children who can’t afford full-priced lunches by stamping their hands and/or giving them less-palatable and nutritionally inferior meals.
> 
> [No Child Hungry](https://www.nokidhungry.org/) is a real charity aimed at combatting childhood hunger; I vet all charities I donate to through [CharityNavigator](https://www.charitynavigator.org/), and this one spends a slightly greater proportion of its intake on fundraising than I’d prefer, but I couldn’t find a more highly-rated national charity targeted to the same cause (if you’re aware of one, please let me know!). [Action Against Hunger](https://www.actionagainsthunger.org/) has an impeccable rating, but its aim is slightly different (although imminently admirable): to eliminate malnourishment, which means their actions are primarily targeted to the developing world. [School Lunch Fairy](https://www.schoollunchfairy.org/) is an organization aimed at relieving the school lunch debt in districts that bar students with such debt from receiving school lunches, but it’s not yet rated. Volunteering or making a financial donation to your local food bank are always options (your dollars and time will always go further than donations of food, but any contribution is appreciated). 
> 
> Now for my soapbox: The longest-term impact you can have is by voting and by writing your representatives. Vote for school board and council members who will stand firm against draconian policies that punish poor children. Vote for representatives who will ensure sufficient funds are allocated to schools to ensure that such policies aren’t needed, and, most challenging but important of all, vote for representatives who have the courage to stand against the tax cuts that make such budget decisions so difficult, and against the policies that award the greatest funds to the districts that need them the least.


	38. i want you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter contains mentions of the deaths of original characters (which occurred before this story began). A more detailed explanation is available in the End Notes.

**May 1, 2019**

“You were amazing tonight,” he says with a broad grin, relaxing into the seat of the car that will take them to the first of who-knows-how-many after parties they’ll attend tonight.

“Me?” she laughs. “You remember that you’re the one who performed, right? 16,000 people screaming for you? Any of that ring a bell?”

“Sure” — he waves his hand dismissively, as if premiering a song at the Billboard Music Awards happens everyday — “but the red carpet…after all that shit with that magazine, I would have skipped it.” He huffs out a breath before muttering, “I still don’t think those assholes deserve a single second of your time,” but then he looks at her and his hard expression just— melts. “But you were— god, Rey, you were incredible. Untouchable.”

He’s spent his entire life enduring flashing cameras and intrusive questions. One red carpet is nothing, and he can’t really have thought she’d skip it — if she’d been the type of person who let difficult things get the best of her, she never would have made it this far. She’s kept an iron grip on her smile through far worse trials than tonight’s photo gauntlet. So it’s not the feat Ben is making it out to be. Not worth mentioning at all, really. And she means to tell him that, really she does, but somehow the words that come out are not the ones she planned.

“I’m glad you” — she swallows — ”I’m really glad you were there.” It’s soft, but she gets it out, so that’s a victory.

He reaches for her hand, gives it a squeeze. His voice is quiet, too, when he responds. “Me too.” He bites his lip and exhales heavily. “Hey, how committed are you to going to this party?”

She didn’t even know hotels kept cars available for their guests to borrow, but then, before meeting Ben, she hadn’t really stayed at the sort of hotels that typically stocked sufficient toiletries, much less Rolls Royce Phantoms. How Ben had managed to sweet-talk his way into getting the driver to hand over the keys, she doesn’t really want to know; she’d gone to their room to change into something slightly more comfortable than her awards show attire, and come back to a very smug grin on a man who already had too many reasons to be smug. She can’t bite back a matching smile, though; the last time they took a drive for no reason at all was…a couple of weeks ago, maybe? Too long ago, judging by the way tension slides out of her shoulders when she settles into the passenger seat. 

Ben seems to know where he’s headed, which leaves her free to study his features. “So tonight went pretty well for you, huh?”

The interior lights are dim, but it’s still easy to make out the blush that suffuses his face, and she awards herself a point for predicting his reaction.

He rubs the back of his neck and mutters something that sounds like a _yeah,_ and she wonders how she ever thought he was conceited.

“C’mon, Ben. You have to give me more than that!” she teases, before sobering suddenly. “Or does it get…I don’t know, not boring, but…ordinary, I guess? Stuff like that?” She hears herself trail off and tries to summons a smile, not wanting to reveal how much the idea bothers her. “You get used to that many people losing their shit over you?” she asks in what she hopes is a joking tone. It’s just, imagining the thing she’s worked so hard for becoming dull, commonplace; her throat feels tight at the thought of it.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He punctuates his words with a shake of his head. “It’s never ordinary, especially when you can tell that the music means something to them,” he says with a soft smile. 

She wonders if it would be crossing a line, to ask him what he’s thinking about. She wants to know the story behind that smile, but would it be overstepping? The conversation moves on before she has a chance to decide.

“It’s different at a show like tonight’s, because no one came to see me—”

She pointedly clears her throat, earning an eye roll — and a grin — from Ben, before he continues.

“Alright, _other than you,_ no one came because I was performing, so it was just a relief that these people who didn’t choose to see me were still into it, y’know? Same way you feel when you open for someone. But when you’re the headliner—”

He’s talking about his own experience, she reminds herself, but then he looks at her and there’s something almost urgent about his expression. Like he’s had a vision of her future and needs to convince her of the truth of it. The look can’t last more than a couple of seconds — he _is_ driving someone else’s $500,000 car — but when he turns his attention back to the road, her heart is beating just a little faster. “Knowing people came out just because you’d be there, having them sing your words back to you — it’s incredible. I can’t wait for you to have that.”

“Yeah,” she says with a small smile, “me neither.” Ben can’t speak crowds of devoted fans into existence, so whether or not he wants her to be successful shouldn’t matter — but the butterflies in her stomach don’t seem to have gotten that message.

He cards a hand through his hair. “The, um, _attention_ is, uh— it’s flattering, I guess? But it can be a lot.” His voice hardens. “Sometimes too much. Which you’ve experienced already.”

It’s easier for the photographers to get to her than him; he lives in a big house behind a big gate and when they’re out— well, he can be intimidating when he wants to be. But the paparazzi have only been tailing her for a few months; he’s had a lifetime of it. 

She shrugs. “Hasn’t been too bad.” 

“More than you should’ve had to put up with,” he says with a scowl, before sighing. “The photographers, the magazines, they’re never satisfied. And it’s the same with all those bullshit metrics people in this industry are so obsessed with. No matter how many people bought your song, people expect you to wish it was more. No matter how much you make on a tour, next time you need to aim for a bigger margin. No matter where you play, there’s a bigger venue you should be trying to fill. And it’s…garbage. Because I’ve done shows with audiences twice as big as tonight’s and not given a shit. It doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, if there’s no one there whose opinion you care about.” 

He glances at her, and she thinks she sees the flicker of a soft smile before he continues. 

“And it doesn’t matter how small the crowd is, as long as there’s one person there whose opinion you care about.” Now she’s certain she sees a smile. “Whose opinion matters so much that when you’re asked if you had a good night, you don’t know how to answer the question until you find out what they thought, if they liked it.” He laughs shortly. “If they noticed your slip-up in the second verse.”

How could he think he was anything less than amazing? 

“Ben, you’ve got to be kidding! You’re the only person on Earth who would consider _that_ a slip-up.”

His shoulders visibly relax even as he adopts a wounded expression. “So you’re not even going to pretend you didn’t notice it? That hurts.” 

He’s laying it on so thickly he can hardly keep a straight face; she doesn’t bother trying to hold back her laughter. 

“Right here, Rey,” he says, placing his hand over his heart, “it hurts right here.”

“Oh, hush.” She tries to tug his arm down. “You were incredible and you know it.”

He slants her a smile and lets her pull his hand away from his chest, using it as an opportunity to tangle their fingers together. “Then it was a good night. _Is_ a good night,” he corrects himself. “We’re here.”

“And where _is_ here, exactly?” Skepticism colors her tone; they haven’t been driving for more than thirty minutes, but it looks like they’re in the middle of the desert.

“Red Rock Canyon,” he says, and she hears a hint of excitement in his voice. “I came here with my dad a couple times,” he tosses over his shoulder as he ducks out of the car.

When she slips out of the car, she’s startled by the sight in front of her.

“Incredible, right?” Ben’s come around to her side of the car, and his voice is hushed, as if they’ve entered a place of worship.

“Yeah.” She’s quiet, too. “I didn’t know there were this many stars in the galaxy.” She looks at him to find his eyes already on her. “You’ve been here before?”

“Yeah,” he smiles and turns his gaze back to the sky. “You know how I was obsessed with astronomy growing up?”

She barely keeps a straight face as she hums in agreement, thinking of the countless times they’ve driven outside the city to find a good spot to star-gaze; none as incredible as this one, but still, if the Ben Solo she met is post-astronomy obsession, she can’t imagine what he was like as a kid.

“So I thought that Las Vegas must be named after the star Vega, and I was convinced that if I could just see Vega from Vegas, I’d be able to discover something about it no one else had, and I’d become a famous astronomer, and…”

“And what?” she prompts.

He sighs. “And my parents wouldn’t have to tour anymore, because I could be famous enough for all of us.” He shrugs and gives a half-hearted laugh. “It made sense in my little kid brain.”

“No, I get it.” She knocks her shoulder against his. “It’s sweet. Astronomer Ben.”

He hums. “Still. I think you should probably tell me an equally embarrassing story. Just to reassure me that mine wasn’t so awful.”

She snorts. “Not likely.”

“C’mon,” he coaxes, turning to face her. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else. Something you thought you’d take to your grave. I’ll do the same.”

She’ll blame it on the desert sky, on the stars that make her failings seem insignificant, because she does. 

***

She tells him, haltingly at first, but then losing herself in the memory, about the ride to the hospital. How they didn’t know yet that Finn’s grandmother was already gone. 

“She’d always been kind to me.” 

_Kind in the small ways she could afford,_ Rey wanted to say — because what was the point of this if she started sugar-coating things? — but she didn’t think Ben would understand her meaning. Or if he did, she didn’t think he’d understand Mrs. Storm. It wasn’t wrong of her, to not give away more than she could afford, just because her grandson befriended some bedraggled orphan girl. Mrs. Storm didn’t talk about it much, but she’d had a harder life than just about everyone Rey knew, herself included. That she sometimes let Finn set a plate for Rey was an act of grace. But Ben— Rey’s not sure he would see it that way.

“When they told us she’d passed, Finn was devastated. The sound he made, I’ll never forget it.” 

She’d learned that Americans only used ‘gutted’ in a literal sense, but if someone developed a British-to-American English dictionary, Finn’s agonized scream would perfectly illustrate why the term needn’t be limited to situations involving knives out. 

“And I— I hurt for him, I really did, but all I could think was, ‘we’re free.’ Because I wanted to get out, to make something of myself, _so desperately”_ — she can hear the wanting of it in her voice, even now — “but Finn— Finn was never going to leave her.”

“And you were never going to leave him,” Ben finishes.

She nods, looking at her feet, not wanting to begin to guess at what he thinks of her now.

“Not bad,” he says lightly.

“I just” — she doesn’t know why she’s pushing this, but she can’t stop herself — ”I just told you I was relieved when my best friend’s grandmother died and all you have to say is ‘not bad’?”

***

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he says with an infuriating shrug. “I mean, if you had more friends, I’m pretty sure you would have confessed it to someone else by now, and then you couldn’t have used it tonight, but who else could you have told? Rose?”

“Hey!”

“Relax,” he says — as if she’s the one who’s out of line. As if his comment could be taken as anything but a personal insult. Or maybe it’s an insult to Rose. Or to both of them? “Rose seems great. Way better than Hux. You’re way ahead of me, friend-wise.”

“Rose isn’t my friend,” she sulks, because she’s still not convinced there wasn’t an insult somewhere in his rambling.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, peering at her, as if getting a little closer will help him understand what’s going on in her head. “She’s the only person you spend time with other than Finn and me.”

“I mean, sure, she’s my work friend, but she’s not my _friend_ friend.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s a real thing,” he scoffs. “For the record, you’re my _friend_ friend.” He purses his lips, then mutters, “you’re my best friend.”

She’s not sure what to say to that, so she reaches for a joke. “You’re just saying that because Hux annoys you at least as much as he entertains you.”

“And because I love y—your sense of humor.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re much funnier than Arnie.”

“But not as easy to distract with flattery. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you owe me your deep dark secret.”

***

He doesn’t drag his feet after that, jumping straight into a story she wouldn’t believe if she’d heard it anywhere else. He’d been six or so when the nice lady who did the cooking and always gave him extra dessert took him on a trip. She said she was taking him to see his parents, and he missed them _so much._ He hadn’t gotten used to being left behind, yet. The lady even got both of his parents on the phone at once, which _never_ happened. But then he got too excited to remember what she’d told him to say, and she’d gotten really angry and snatched the payphone away from him.

“Afterwards, I kept hearing the word ‘ransom,’ but it wasn’t until much later that I understood what that meant. I never asked whether my parents brought the money, or even how much she asked for.” 

She hadn’t done it intentionally, but at some point during his story, she’d slipped her hand into his — or maybe he’d reached out to her? Either way, she gives his hand a quick squeeze now, and feels better when he responds in kind before continuing.

“They did a good job drawing her out.” His voice betrays no hint that he’s talking about how he was extricated from a kidnapper; she’s heard him talk about the weather with more emotion. “I heard the shots, but I didn’t see anything, and they kept my face covered until I was out. My parents were waiting there. And I was just— I didn’t see it, but even then, I understood what those shots meant. And I knew that she’d done something bad, but she’d fed me, she’d taken me on a trip — or at least it seemed like that to a six-year-old — and she was lying dead in the same hotel room we’d been watching cartoons in, and I just— I didn’t care at all, because my parents were there.” 

***

He gives a half-hearted laugh. “Afterwards, they got me a therapist, because they thought I needed help processing the trauma. They thought I didn’t understand what happened.” He shakes his head. “They were the ones who didn’t understand. They didn’t see that nothing else mattered to me as long as I got to be with them; that I didn’t care if the whole world burned as long as I could believe that they wanted me.”

Months ago, she would have mistaken his clenched jaw for anger. Weeks ago, she might not have known how to respond to his pain. Now, though, she knows what to tell him, because she knows what she’d want to hear. 

“Ben, _I _want you,” she says, tugging him towards her. “Let me show you how much.” She presses up on her toes to catch his lips with hers. When his arms wrap around her, he holds her a little too tight, and if this were a normal relationship, if this were _real,_ she’d probably be panicking right now. Probably feel trapped. Because she knows she can’t be counted on. She knows it’s only a matter of time before she’ll disappoint him. But with Ben, that doesn’t matter, because despite everything that’s in her reach now, time is slipping through her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** Rey tells Ben about the unexpected death of Finn’s grandmother and her conflicted feelings over this, knowing that it meant Finn would now be willing to join her if she made it big and had an opportunity to leave the UK. To skip this, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume after the second set.
> 
> Ben tells Rey about being kidnapped and held for ransom by his family’s cook at the age of six. He recounts that his sole emotion was happiness that his parents returned from their tour to deal with the crisis, and he hadn’t been concerned about the kidnapping or even the fact that the woman who took him was killed during his rescue. To skip this, stop reading at the third set of asterisks and resume reading after the fourth.
> 
> **Other Notes:**
> 
> The song referenced in the tweets at the beginning of this chapter is Hozier’s **“Someone New"**; contrary to my implication, Hozier actually does intentionally drop “someone new” in one repetition of the chorus — you can hear it at 3:15 in his [official music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPJSsAr2iu0) and 3:30 in this [live version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQH8TTCazgI) (in which he discusses the meaning of the song).
> 
> The **2019 Billboard Music Awards** were presented at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas. 
> 
> As a performer at the BMAs, Ben was naturally invited to stay at **[The Mansion](https://mgmgrand.mgmresorts.com/en/hotel/the-mansion.html)**, the MGM’s [luxury hotel-within-a-hotel](https://www.reviewjournal.com/business/casinos-gaming/mgms-exclusive-mansion-celebrates-20-years-1708372/); in addition to other performers, he and Rey might have had high-rollers, royalty, and other members of the rich (the going rate is $5,000/night for the “cheapest” room) and famous — Cher and Bruno Mars have reportedly stayed there — for neighbors. The Mansion actually does have a fleet of Rolls Royce Phantoms available to chauffeur guests. 
> 
> While the conservancy area of **Red Rock Canyon** is closed to visitors after 8PM in May, excellent spots for[ star-gazing](https://www.redrockcanyonlv.org/stargazing-at-red-rock-canyon/) are still accessible along SR 160.
> 
> **[Vega](https://www.space.com/21719-vega.html)** is one of the brightest stars in the night sky. It’s almost directly overhead at mid-northern latitudes on midsummer nights and is below the horizon only 7 hours a day, so it would be easily findable for intrepid baby astronomer Ben. The name of the star comes from the Arabic word “falling,” from the phrase “falling eagle”; Vega is a star in the constellation Lyra, which was often represented on star maps as an eagle or vulture carrying a lyre. The name of the city, on the other hand, comes from the Spanish word for meadows. Ben was mistaken in his belief that there was a connection between the star and the city (at least until he and Han made one).


	39. is it cool that I said all that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **nsfw**

**May 13, 2019**

With more than 420,000 units sold in the first week, Ben’s album has set a new record for the year, but success means more work, not less; everyone wants a piece of him. He’s going on _The Ellen Show_ to promote his album, and Rey only feels a little guilty for agreeing to the showrunner’s proposal; after all, it has Poe’s stamp of approval. But when she tells Ben she plans to attend the taping, he can’t quite hide his smile, and her guilt ratchets up a bit. She tells herself that if she didn’t agree to the scheme, they would only come up with something that would embarrass Ben more. It helps, a little.

At first, the interview unfolds like any other. Ellen projects a stream of tweets where fans call Ben “baby” and asks him for an explanation — of course, he’s got none. He’s even more lost when she tries to get him to guess what “uwu” means, but his adorably confused face gets the audience laughing. Ellen admits that even she had to get an intern to explain that it’s meant to look like a smiling face, and it’s used when something is painfully cute — but now that Ben understands the caption on a brand new stream of tweets being projected on Ellen’s screen, he starts to blush, drawing more laughs. Ellen laments that they compiled a list of thirst tweets about him, but since “he’s baby”, it would be downright wrong to make him read them, and Ben’s relief is comical. 

His face lights up, though, when Ellen mentions that his lovely girlfriend is with them, and Rey’s amazed anew at how good he is at playing a man in love. Knowing the camera would turn to her had given them an excuse to have her mic’d up and in camera-ready makeup without raising Ben’s suspicions, but when Rey readily complies with Ellen’s appeal that she join them on stage, Ben sends her a questioning glance. She tries to exude calm as she joins him on the couch opposite Ellen.

When he learns, along with the audience, that since he’s too innocent to read the thirst tweets himself, Rey will be taking on the task, he looks genuinely alarmed. She giggles, Ellen cackles, and they’re off to the races.

It starts out innocently enough: “‘My crush on Ben Solo is still as intense as it was when I was 16 and in love with Kylo Ren. Please kiss me so hard.’” The fruit is so low-hanging, it’s practically on the ground, so she looks up at him with a coy smile and says, “I would retweet that!”

He grins and kisses her, to the audience’s delight.

“‘The hottest thing about Ben Solo is that he’s dating Rey Jackson’ — not true,” she says to Ben with a soft smile, “but very sweet.” She amps up the wattage of her grin for the camera over Ellen’s shoulder.

“No, that one was definitely true,” Ben weighs in, ignoring the cameras.

Ellen pipes up. “Glad to hear you agree with my tweet, Ben.”

They all laugh, but things escalate quickly from there.

“‘Ben Solo is literally my daddy.’” At the heated look in his eyes, her face flushes. It was definitely a mistake to look at him when she read that, rather than the camera. 

It doesn’t help that he responds in that gravelly voice, “Not _literally,_ Rey.”

Shit. She was supposed to be teasing and he was supposed to be embarrassed, but he’s flipped the script. What happened to shy Ben? He'd been so reserved, almost frozen, before, but now it's as if he's forgotten about the cameras and the audience; he’s not looking at anyone but her. She can’t draw her eyes from his, but where he looks cool and collected, her stomach is doing somersaults. She needs to get through these cards. Quickly. 

“‘Here’s a list of what I would let Ben Solo do to me—’” Her eyebrows rise to her hairline. “Can I say that?!” 

Through laughter, Ellen assures her she can, so she gamely continues.

“Here’s a list of what I would let Ben Solo do to me: 1. Anything. 2. Everything.’” She tries to look stern for the camera, but a smile keeps threatening to break through, and she can feel her face flushing. “That’s wildly inappropriate!”

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything I’d object to.” 

He’s out of control, and while the audience loves it, it’s certainly not helping her blush fade.

She pushes forward. “‘Ben Solo is so big. I need religion.’” 

_Christ._ She keeps making amateur mistakes. It’s one thing not to read ahead — these tweets are too outrageous for her to have much hope of schooling her reaction anyway — but she really should know better than to meet Ben’s eyes. His gaze is scorching, and only an internal reminder that her every movement is being broadcast to the world keeps her from squirming in her seat. She reads the next tweet. 

“‘I want Ben Solo to redacted the absolute redacted out of my redacted.’ _Ellen!” _She’s probably destined to be a reaction meme now, because her eyes must be the size of saucers.

“Whatever you want, Rey,” Ben assures her with a teasing smile. 

Ellen is wheezing.

Rey forges ahead, her face on fire. “‘I have this recurring fantasy where Ben Solo puts me between his thighs and crushes my body.’”

Even Ben is uncertain at this. He glances at Ellen. “Am I allowed to respond to that?”

There are actual tears streaming down Ellen’s face. Rey doesn’t wait for her to respond.

“‘Do you think if I asked nicely, Ben Solo would choke me?’” Holy shit, isn’t this a daytime show?!

Ben’s gaze is locked on Rey. “Same question, Ellen.” 

Luck has not been especially on her side today, so odds are her mic picked up the sound that just escaped her; one she’s fairly certain can only be described as a whimper.

Ellen slides out of her chair, overcome by laughter.

Rey’s overcome, too, but she doesn’t trust herself to move. There are cameras and an audience to consider, after all.

Eventually, they do make it out of the studio and on the ride back to his place, Ben’s quiet. She’d thought he was fine with how the segment unfolded — not at all the way she’d expected, but their fans will still love it. Now she’s not so sure. Her stomach starts to churn. If she’s upset him, he could just walk away from this. She’s sure that if he wanted to, Ben could talk Poe into supporting it; if anyone can translate a fake break-up into better sales, it’s Poe. But it’s too soon. Because— because her album doesn’t come out until September. So she needs to figure out how badly she’s messed up.

“Hey, I hope that was okay. The whole _Ellen_ thing.” He just hums in response. She fiddles with the hem of her skirt as she sneaks a glance at him, but his gaze is fixed on the road.“It’s just— well, I thought that if I said no to them, they’d do something worse, you know?” He doesn’t answer — does he think she doesn’t need an answer or just doesn’t deserve one? — so she rushes on. “Hux told them you’re scared of spiders and I didn’t want them to like, dump a bucket of them on you on national television or something.” She hadn’t planned on throwing Arnie under the bus, but at this point, it’s every man for themselves. Besides, what kind of shite friend reveals your arachnophobia to a known prankster?

“I’m not _scared _of spiders,” he scowls, “I just don’t _like_ them. Which is perfectly normal, because they’re creepy as fuck.” He shudders.

“Right, absolutely,” she agrees. He cuts her a sharp glance, looking for a hint of mockery, but he won’t find any; she likes spiders, actually, but she’d happily lead the war against them if it would get things with Ben back to normal. She realizes with a start that it’s taken her so long to work up the courage to broach the topic that they’re already pulling into his drive. She tells herself it’s a good sign that he took her here, but maybe he just wants to iron out the details of their break up in private. “I _am_ sorry, though, Ben.” She’s just toying with her seatbelt, not unfastening it even though Ben’s put the car in park. If this is the end, she doesn’t want to hurry it along.

“For what?” His tone, his expression, gives nothing away, but he hasn’t gotten out of the car, so that’s something, isn’t it? 

God, this would be so much easier if he’d just show a _hint_ of emotion; anger, she knows how to handle, but this act — pretending not to be upset when she knows he _must_ be — is so much worse. If he’s going to yell at her, or give her the silent treatment, or— or whatever, she just wants to _know_. But maybe this is part of her penance. Confession. 

“For— for going along with their plan. For not telling you.” She’s torn; he might think giving an explanation is making an excuse, she might be making it worse, but she can’t stop herself. “I really _did_ think it was the lesser of evils, Ben. But I’m still sorry.” She bites her lip; in part because she needs _some _outlet for her anxiety, but also because if she doesn’t, she’ll just keep rambling.

Ben’s silence can’t last for more than a few seconds, but it feels excruciatingly long. She’s staring at her knees, trying to hit upon a combination of words that will get her through this, but nothing she’s telling herself seems to be sticking. _The album will be fine, the album was fine before she met Ben, the album will be fine if he, if he—_

“Just to be clear,” he breaks in, and he does sound like he wants to understand, which is more than she’d hoped for, “you’re saying that you came to the taping and played along with the prank because you thought that if you didn’t, they’d come up with something worse?”

She catalogues the sounds that accompany him turning off the car — the shift of the leather seat as he leans forward to hit the keyless start, the car sighing into silence — but she can’t tear her eyes away from her knees. She manages a nod.

“So instead of letting who-knows-what happen to me, you agreed to participate — even though you knew it would expose you to embarrassment, too?” 

She chances a glance at him, and he’s smiling softly. When she nods again, she keeps her eyes on him.

“Rey, what could you possibly have to be sorry for? That’s—” He gives a little shake of his head, like he doesn’t know what to do with her. _“—way_ above the call of duty.”

Right. This isn’t— they’re not responsible for each other’s feelings. It’s not what they agreed to. She gives what is probably a weak smile and busies herself collecting her things from his car before trailing behind him up the front walk. But as he’s unlocking the front door, she realizes there’s no reason for her to be there. Fans have probably already started to leak clips from the taping, so they won’t need to come up with content for the next few days. And as flirtatious as he was on set, Ben’s not behaving as if he brought her back to his house to fool around. But now that she’s thinking about it, they do this a lot, don’t they? Just…spend time together, without a _reason_ for it. And there’s nothing wrong with that, no rule against it, so why does the realization make that panicky feeling from the car come back? 

“Ben.” He cocks his head so she’ll know he’s listening, but most of his attention is on a package that had been delivered while they were out. After a brief, failed attempt at manhandling the box open, he kneels on the floor and begins using his keys to cut through the packing tape. “Those tweets were pretty outrageous, huh?” she says, closing the door and leaning against it.

He hums without looking up. He’s been expecting this shipment for a few days; she can tell from the packaging that it’s the drum equipment he’s been geeking out over ever since Chewie sent him the specs. At this point, she could probably recite from memory his sometimes-frustrated, sometimes-eager, _always_ earnest musings about how hard it is for someone who wears his shoe size to find a double bass, fixed base, direct drive drum pedal. It’s kind of adorable, actually, how excited he’s been over this gear and she almost feels bad for what she’s about to do. But drum pedals can wait.

“Some points were made, though,” she continues. “The list, for example.” She crosses the hall to stand next to him, bringing her stilettos into his sightline. His hands still as she runs hers through his hair.

“The list?”

“Of what I’d let you do to me.” Even though he’s frozen in place, he’s still looking at his box, or pretending to, so when she sees his Adam’s apple bob, she allows herself a private smile. “Don’t you remember?”

She vaguely registers him sweeping the package out of the way, but her attention is focused on the feel of his hand encircling her ankle, and then her eyes meet his and his gaze is…hungry. All the heat from earlier comes roaring back.

His voice is hoarse when he replies. “Remind me.”

It takes her a moment to recall what it is they’re talking about. The tweet, the list of things she’d let him do. “Anything” — his grip on her leg is momentarily crushing, and then he remembers himself. She draws a ragged breath. It’s not made any easier by the way his attention is fixed on her lips. “Everything.”

“Rey.” Her name is a plea, a demand, and she’s not sure for what, but it doesn’t matter because the answer is the same — _Yes._

He surges to his feet, lifting her up and groaning his approval when she wraps her legs around him, rucking her skirt up and locking their bodies together as their mouths meet. Her hands move restlessly over his chest, tugging fruitlessly at his shirt. It needs to be off, _now,_ but she can’t think through how to accomplish that while he’s holding her. And how is she supposed to focus when he is palming her arse like that, like she is a fruit that he has just discovered, to his delight, is perfectly _ripe_ for him? He shifts — why is it so goddamn hot that he can hold her with one hand? What is he so _big_ for? — and then he’s working her top up. The first brush of his thumb on the underside of her breast is a goddamn revelation and she _should_ be worried about gravity, she _should_ have a care for the limits of his strength, but she can’t help arching her back, because she needs that friction on her nipples, needs him to get there faster, needs him to play her, _fuck_ the drums. And maybe god understands she’s been through enough, maybe god is a woman, maybe god doesn’t exist and there’s only Ben, because he bends his head and bites at her through her top and she is halfway to coming from that alone. She writhes and if she can feel how hard he is, how he throbs in response, then he must know, must be able to _feel_ how wet she is. She thinks he calls his own name and he feels so good she almost doesn’t blame him, but as he starts to stumble towards his room, never letting her go, never letting up as he kisses and licks and nips at her neck and shoulder and chest, she realizes he’d said ‘bed,’ not ‘Ben.’ She would voice her agreement, except she’s been saying nothing but _yes_ since before they left the hallway.

He misjudges the distance to the bed, but she can hardly fault him when she’s the one distracting him. But his distraction means they’re both still wearing far too many clothes. She must find some way to express her frustration with this, because the next moment he’s helping her fix that. She’s had him so much more than she has any right to hope for, but it’s rare for them to be together, like this, in the daylight. It’s like her eyes can’t choose which part of him to settle on, but, then, she is nowhere near content with only looking. Her fingers skate across his chiseled frame, her lips chasing behind, wanting any part of him, every part of him. He’s a little crazed, too, his hands burning trails over her skin.

The frenzy recedes, a little, when he eases inside her. For him, too, she thinks. He draws a ragged breath and his hands flex at her hips, as if to gather himself. But when she shudders in response, whatever calm she’d regained is lost. Because he fills her so completely, there is nowhere to _go. _And she needs to move, needs _him_ to move, _something._ And the way he’s staring down at where they’re joined, the way he almost lazily rolls his hips against hers, as if there’s no rush, is only making her more desperate. But when she tries to buck up into him, he just growls and tightens his hold on her hips. 

“Please, Ben, I need—” Any hope of completing her plea is lost when he tilts her hips, letting him slide impossibly _deeper._

“Tell me,” he says, his voice gruff. His eyes are still on _them_ and the thought of what he’s seeing is almost too much. The slow slide of his cock into her. The way her body welcomes him. Pulling out — still so _slowly —_ to see the slick proof of how badly she wants him. She whimpers.

“Tell me what you need,” he repeats, his voice coaxing now. 

She can feel her muscles tremble around him, as if to grip him in place, or at least coax him to return where he _belongs_ with the speed, the strength, she needs, but the only thing it seems to draw from him is a low groan, and a renewed determination to delivery the sweetest form of torture imaginable.

He bends his head to nuzzle at her neck, his chest brushing against hers and the slight friction against her nipples is too much and not nearly enough. “Tell me, Rey,” he whispers.

“You, Ben, please, _you,”_ she moans.

“You already have me,” he reminds her, and at some point her eyes must have slipped closed because she has to reopen them to glare at him — she’s done with teasing. But the smirk she expected to find is missing; his smile is soft.

“Then, then— _please,_ Ben.” She is not above begging, not now, not when he’s spent what feels like an eternity stripping her of her clothes, her composure, her sanity, and he’s looking at her like she only has to say the word and he’d give her anything she asked for. 

He makes soothing noises and begins to move — not fast _enough,_ but purposefully, at least. She tries to tell herself it is enough, and it might have been, but he reaches down to brush her clit and she may not survive this. His other hand still grips her hip, anchoring her in place and — 

He has plans for her, she thinks, plans to drag this out, to fan the embers until the heat is so intense she can’t see straight, but he’s miscalculated. Because she is a powder keg and he is throwing sparks. He pumps into her — she is so _full — _rolls his thumb over her clit, and she is gone, coming on his cock and whether it takes him by surprise or not, she doesn’t care because he keeps that delicious, _perfect,_ friction going until she pulls his hand away. She must look dazed — she certainly feels it — and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a lop-sided smile before he closes the slight distance between them. He molds his mouth to hers, soft and slow, and it feels almost sacrilegious, this kiss. Like he’s saying a prayer while he’s still inside her. But that’s just her imagination talking, or maybe the endorphins flooding her system, because a moment later, he’s deepening the kiss, coaxing her mouth open, demanding a response. 

When they break apart to catch their breath, his voice is rough, but his eyes are soft. “How long do you need?”

It’s hard to focus on his question when he follows it by brushing her hair back so he can ghost kisses down her neck. Her whole body still feels electrified, and he’s feeding the current. But then she realizes what he’s asking. He hasn’t— he didn’t— “Oh! You can—”

“Not _me,_ how long do _you _need? Before I can touch you again,” he clarifies, with a nip at her shoulder that sends a shiver down her body.

“Oh.” It’s involuntary, the curl of her fingers into his skin. “A— a few minutes at least.”

He slants her a dangerous grin. “I can give you one.”

“Ben” she protests, half-laughing. “Too soon!”

“Fifty nine” He teases, a wide, happy smile stretching across his face. “Fifty eight.”

“Stop!” she puts her hand over his mouth to silence him, laughing. “Really, I’m too sensitive.”

He captures her arm and turns to kiss her wrist, his eyes heavy on hers, and she feels her breath catch. “I guess I’ll have to be very gentle then, hmm?”

She means for it to be a reprimand, but it sounds more like an agreement when she says his name again.

Ben whispers something that sounds like, “Let me be good to you, Rey.” She probably misheard him, but even if not— she refuses to imagine a promise in those words when there isn't one there. He is good to her. That has to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comedian and actress Ellen DeGeneres has been hosting a daytime television talk show, [The Ellen DeGeneres Show](https://www.youtube.com/user/TheEllenShow) (also stylized _The Ellen Show_ or _ellen_), since 2003. Among other recurring segments/themes, Ellen is known for scaring people and pulling pranks on her guests. 
> 
> However, to my knowledge, Ellen has never had a guest read thirst tweets about themselves; inspiration for that was taken entirely from [Buzzfeed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQucO7Z827A&list=PLlyKGB2y5v3aLCCakRr22Tzqd_deGmVn1&index=47).
> 
> Spiders are [great](https://www.sciencefriday.com/articles/the-marvelous-misunderstood-lives-of-common-spiders/), [actually](https://www.sciencefriday.com/spotlights/arachnology/) (but please don’t click these links if you are disturbed by photos of spiders or their webs).


	40. delicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter contains references to (mild) illness, which brings up distressing memories from Rey’s childhood; to skip the childhood memories, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume at the second set. To skip all reference to illness, don’t start reading until you get to the third set of asterisks. A more detailed explanation is available in the End Notes.

**May 14, 2019**

When her alarm goes off the morning after the Ellen taping, Rey makes a unilateral decision that she’s just not up to dealing with her responsibilities today. Ben has a rare day off, so she sends texts cancelling her meetings and snuggles up against his massive chest. Usually he runs hot, but today, his skin feels pleasantly cool against hers. When he tries to get up to get them breakfast, she whines, clinging to him, and he immediately gives in to her unstated request that he stay put. She’s not usually much of a cuddler, but he doesn’t seem put out by her plan to spend his day off lazing around in bed together. When lunchtime rolls around and she’s still not making any signs of movement, though, he starts fussing. 

“Ben, just because I called off sick doesn’t mean I’m actually unwell,” she scoffs, but he just smiles down at her, careful not to dislodge her from his chest as he tucks her hair behind her ear. If her words had any effect on him, it’s probably lost when she gives in to the desire to wiggle closer to him, even though she’s already as close as she can get. 

When she makes no indication she’s planning to move on her own, he coaxes her to sit up and puts his hand on her forehead, just like people do in movies. “Sweetheart, you have a fever, you’ve slept twice as much as you usually do, and you haven’t had anything to eat since dinner last night. You’re definitely sick.” He looks sadly at her. Shouldn’t she be the sad one?

“I’m being punished for lying, aren’t I?” she moans, sliding down to rest her head on Ben’s lap. “I said I was ill and then the universe made it come true.” She allows herself a few piteous whimpers.

“Rey, baby, you were already coming down with something this morning or you would have wanted breakfast.”

That…actually makes some sense. Although she’s inclined to agree with anything he says, if he’ll just keep smoothing her hair back like that. Why that should be so soothing, she doesn’t know, but she never wants it to stop.

“Your mind is a mystery to me,” he muses, and she can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s looking down at her, but she can’t bring herself to move. His hand on her head is hypnotic. “You knew why you needed to stay home, but it’s like you gave the message to everyone but yourself.”

***

But being ill is— it’s an excuse to get out of work. She doesn’t really get ill, that’s what Plutt had always told her, so she can’t be ill, she can’t be — except wasn’t Plutt wrong about a lot of things?

***

A flood of emotion sweeps over her, and tears are streaming down her face before she can think to check them. She tries to hide her face in his lap, but it’s no use — even if she wasn’t too late, he’d feel her tears soaking through his clothing.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’re feeling so badly. Please don’t cry — or, well, cry if you want to, but will you tell me what I can do?” His hands flutter over her, as if he can’t decide where they should land, or whether he’s ought to touch her at all. “Do you want soup? Or maybe Gatorade? Or…I don’t know, Rey, I haven’t done this before, can you help me out here?” He sounds almost as distraught as she feels.

He doesn’t owe her anything. He should kick her out, because otherwise, she’s going to get her germs all over his house, but instead he’s offering to take care of her. That should make her feel better, shouldn’t it? Hadn’t that been one of her silly dreams, back when she was young, to have someone take care of her, just like this? But instead of making her feel better, the thought makes the hurt worse. 

He gathers her in his arms — she’s tucked her face in the hem of her top, but it’s soaked through, so he’s getting wet anyway — and runs his hand down her back like she’s a frightened child. It’s so strange; she can’t remember ever being held like this, and she doesn’t know how she’s going to stop crying, but he just waits her out, one arm wrapped tight around her waist, like he thinks she might fly to pieces if he doesn’t hold her together, the other rubbing a slow tempo up and down, up and down, in time with his breathing. He rocks them gently at the same slow pace, his body curling over her like a giant metronome. 

***

Eventually, her borderline-hysterical sobs quiet. She’s drawing shaky breaths, trying to think of how on earth she’s going to talk her way out of this, when he says the words that make everything alright.

“We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to, okay?” he says quietly into her hair, and she’s not sure she’s ever been so grateful for an out. 

She nods into his chest and once she’s gathered herself, she offers him a weak thanks and tells him she’s going to clean up. More for his sake than hers, she ventures that she might like some chicken soup and he leaps into action. 

By the time he’s found someone who’ll deliver soup that’s up to his standards, she’s washed her face, changed into a fresh t-shirt, dug her laptop out of her bag, and reinstalled herself in Ben’s bed. It wouldn’t be any use trying to leave, she knows, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight him over it. Besides, given how much those basic tasks took out of her, she suspects she’s going to have a hard time staying awake long enough for the soup to be delivered; she can admit, at least to herself, that she’s glad she doesn’t have to attempt to drive back to her place.

When Ben returns to his bedroom, she’s looking for a pre-recorded cover she can queue up for Thursday. She might be new to the ‘Rey can get ill, too’ camp, but even she can guess that she’s not going to be recording in the next 36 hours. Unfortunately, it looks like she ran through almost all of her backup material while she was recording her album. 

When Ben asks why she’s not resting, he probably doesn’t expect her response to be delivered with a quivering lip, but she counts it as a victory that she does not, technically, cry over the idea of having to record a cover while feeling like _this._ Breaking down in tears twice in one day would be absolutely unacceptable; she’s not sure she’s cried twice in the last decade. Once he gets her to explain the problem, Ben looks at her like the solution should be obvious — but she already feels bad enough about taking up space in his house, making him order soup for her, and worst of all, falling apart on him. This feels like far too much, but the only thing that would make her feel worse than accepting his help would be trying to explain to him what makes her feel so awful about doing so, so she adds it to the list of things she’ll have to try to find a way to pay him back for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** Rey has a mild illness (she has trouble recognizing she’s sick, but she has a fever and generally feels bad; she’s not sick to her stomach). This experience brings up memories of her childhood: instead of being cared for, she was told that she wasn’t sick, she was just lazy and trying to get out of work. She breaks down in tears and Ben comforts her. 
> 
> To skip the reference to her childhood memories, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume reading at the second set of asterisks. To skip all discussion of Rey’s illness and tune in once she’s calming down, skip everything until you get to the third set of asterisks.


	41. you’re in my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play.
> 
> **Note:** The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.

**May 16, 2019**

They can’t mention she’s under the weather without it being considered a declaration that she’s pregnant (“I should warn you that twins run in the family,” Ben jokes, but maybe being ill has sapped her sense of humor, because it falls flat). In the end, the excuse for why he’s posting instead of her is weak, but they figure no one will really care, and they’re right.

Ben insists on surprising her with his song choice; ordinarily, she wouldn’t stand for it, but if she doesn’t conserve her energy to shower and feed herself, she suspects Ben will do those things for her too, so she lets him have his way.

Rey’s surprised by his choice; from a messaging standpoint, it doesn’t seem like the best pick. The song — written from the perspective of someone who’s deeply in love, but doesn’t know if that love will be accepted — doesn’t really fit with where their relationship is supposed to be right now. Ben didn’t include the lyrics where the singer dreams of not having to read between the lines, but still, it’s easy to hear the yearning in his voice. Thankfully, what comes across even more clearly is Ben’s devotion. It’s as if his desire to be loved is nothing in comparison to his need to let the person he is singing to know how much he loves them. Rey wonders, for just a moment, what it would be like to be loved like that. But that’s not important. What matters is that their fans adore it.

She almost wishes she could tell them that he’s faking it – his performance is even more impressive knowing he’s so convincingly projecting emotions that aren’t real — but, of course, that’s not an option.

There’s a small part of her that admits she hopes he chose the song with her in mind. Not that she thinks he’s anything like the original singer, lovesick for his sweet thing, but — well, ‘sweet’ crosses Ben’s lips so often she’s memorized every inflection he can put on those five letters. It had started as a joke — he seemed to think she needed constant reminders of how very _sweet_ she tasted. But even he recognized that that sentiment wasn’t appropriate for every venue, so ‘sweetheart’ became the G-rated way for him to express his X-rated sentiments. Somewhere along the way, it had become a habit. 

And the bit about the night sky — it’s not a regular thing, their schedules don’t allow for that, but they slip out of the city to star-gaze often enough that Ben doesn’t bother bringing in the blanket anymore, just lets it live in his car. She starts every night with the best of intentions, but inevitably, he’ll say something — funny, soft, self-deprecating, sweet — and she’ll slant him a look, and then it’s too late. Because what defense can stand when she catches constellations reflected in his eyes? But maybe, once or twice, he’s seen stars shining in hers.

If so, there’s a chance, however slim, that he was thinking of her when he selected his cover. But there’s no way to find out without seeming pathetic, and stupid as it is, she knows it would hurt to hear him confirm that his choice had nothing to do with her, so she puts it out of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Ben’s #ThirtySecondThursday (performed by Hozier, slightly modified from Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing”):**
> 
> Oh, good god, you’re a sweet thing  
And I shall raise my hand up into the night  
Into the night sky  
And count the stars there  
That are shining in your eyes  
Just to dig it all and not to wonder  
That would be fine
> 
> The lyrics Rey references being glad Ben omitted (And I'll be satisfied / Not to read in between the lines) immediately follow this excerpt of the song.
> 
> If you prefer to play the cover in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/x5saGYXhElQ).
> 
> If you've been listening to the songs throughout the fic, you know that Rey's covers are voiced by Halsey and Ben's are by Hozier. Both artists are using their platforms for anti-racism. Among [other efforts](https://twitter.com/Hozier/status/1269078569696854016/photo/1), Hozier is donating all royalties from his song “Jackboot Jump” to BLM and the NAACP from now into perpetuity; listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLEePnjw-fo) (and if you have a subscription to YouTube, Spotify, or another streaming service, feel free to leave it on repeat on mute all night long to churn those dollars). Halsey has been serving as a street medic in LA; check out her [Twitter](https://twitter.com/halsey) for lots of ways to join her in supporting BLM.


	42. the fun things we could do

**May 24, 2019**

Rey’s singing along to the radio as she and Ben fly down the PCH in his Porsche. She turns to grin at him only to realize he’s got his phone trained on her face. She rolls her eyes, but she’s too happy right now to let anything dim her smile. She’s finally convinced him to let her drive his fucking phenomenal car and really, the only thing that seems upsetting now is that their drive to San Diego is going to be over in less than two hours.

Still, she doesn’t want him to waste his time. “Ben, c’mon, you know we can’t use this,” she reminds him with a rueful smile. “I already put Phaz through enough with Thirty Second Thursdays. She’d kill us if we posted someone else’s audio.” She has to consciously make herself relax her grip on the steering wheel; the butter-soft leather shouldn’t suffer just because she’s half-terrified and wholly in awe of Resistance Record’s general counsel.

“So I can’t take a video of my girlfriend that I don’t plan to post?” 

As cover stories go, it’s a weak one. Obviously he doesn’t really want a random video of her, but there’s an edge to his voice. Maybe he’s embarrassed he didn’t think of the copyright issues? Her eyes flick from the road to the speed gauge to the mirrors and back again — she’s a good driver, _excellent,_ in fact, but this is the most expensive car she’s ever driven by a factor of about ten — and she catches a glimpse of a frown on Ben’s face. He’s gotten so much better about it, but he still takes himself too seriously sometimes. But he never presses her when she’s uncomfortable; she’ll happily grant him the same gift.

“Whatever, weirdo,” but she throws him a smile so he knows she’s teasing. “Just enjoy the drive. This is a perfect day!” 

He huffs dramatically, but even without looking at him, she can tell his heart isn’t really in it, and her smile widens. Because it _is_ a perfect day; she’s driving a car that operates like a predator, the sunlight’s sparkling on the Pacific, and Ben’s sitting next to her.

“Maybe I’d be enjoying the drive more if I was the one doing the driving,” he grumbles, but there’s something in his tone that makes it clear he’s doing this to entertain her. “Still don’t know how you managed to con me into giving you the keys,” he mutters under his breath, but clearly meant for her to hear, and now she’s grinning. He catches her smile and amps it up even more. “I put my poor baby in the hands of someone who learned to drive on the wrong side of the road,” he says mournfully. “All we’ve been through together, and I betrayed you,” he croons as he caresses the dashboard. “I’ve gone to the dark side for a pair of pretty eyes.” He shakes his head at himself, throwing an accusing look at Rey. She can’t hold in her laughter any longer, and Ben’s straight face lasts only a moment longer than hers does. 

Outside her window, it’s a kaleidoscope of colors — the greens of the grasses and shrubs replaced by the burnt sienna of the mountains in the distance — and on Ben’s side, it’s nothing but blue, the Pacific glittering so brightly in the morning sun she has to look away, but ahead of them, they have miles and miles of beautiful black pavement. She has no intention of returning his keys any time soon, but she _can_ offer him some reassurance. “You know, if it’s any comfort, I actually didn’t learn to drive on the wrong side of the road.”

“Alright, I think I’ve been fairly understanding of your Britishisms so far, but if you’re going to argue that the left side of the road is the _right _side to drive on, I’m going to need us to switch now.” He tilts his head towards the shoulder, as if he expects her to pull over that moment. 

Objectively, it’s not funny, but it seems like she’s ready to find humor in everything today. “No, no, I meant, when I was teaching myself to drive, I practised driving on the right side. I couldn’t get my license because of” — Plutt, of course, but she doesn’t want to get into that right now — 

“Paperwork stuff?” Ben offers.

“Yeah.” She smiles weakly, but takes the out that he’s offered. “Paperwork. So I couldn’t drive on proper roads without a license. And anyway, the cars that I fixed up weren’t exactly street-legal anyway. Heaps of junk, you know?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, because what would Ben Organa Solo know about the literal blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into those junkers, knowing she’d only get a few dozen miles out of them at best? Knowing they’d never take her where she really wanted to go. This story isn’t really taking her where she wanted to go, either, but it’s a little too late to not tell it at this point. “And I figured, the only way I’d ever be able to afford a real car — a car I could take on an actual road — was if I made it big, right? And making it big always meant being in the States.” She manages a smile at this, because fuck it — here she is in the States, isn’t she? “So when I was practicing, in the junkyard, I drove on the right side of the road that Finn and I marked out. Start as you mean to go on, and all that.”

She’s worried Ben’s going to make it into some, some _thing_, but he just takes her hand in his, gives it a squeeze, and tips his head back, tilting his face to soak up the sun.

“Guess I can relax then,” he says, and she feels tension seep from her shoulders, too.

The afternoon they spend at the zoo is nowhere near long enough for Rey, and Ben’s excitement over getting to La Jolla by dusk to show her the seals and sea lions is contagious, but once they get to the resort, it’s hard to imagine wanting to leave. The Rancho Valencia is as spectacular as Ben promised, and as wonderful as the other things they’d planned to do this weekend had sounded when they’d booked this trip, none is tempting enough to overcome the lure of a tub big enough for the two of them, the cozy fireplace on their private patio, and the bed they find many — many — ways to make use of. Sunday comes far too soon.

Unpacking her weekend bag back at her flat, she has to shake her head at all of the stuff Ben accumulated that somehow found its way into her luggage — hotel keys, zoo guides, a matchbox from the restaurant they stopped at in La Jolla. She’s never been like that. An involuntary minimalist for 20 years, if she were to start holding onto things now, it would only make it more obvious how little she used to have — as if her life started when she moved to LA. And while that might be true, in a way, it’s not something she’s going to plaster up for everyone to see. Besides, the only thing she might have wanted to hold on to from this weekend is that video Ben took of her singing in his car, and she knows it’s long deleted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The **Pacific Coast Highway**, or PCH, also known as Highway 1 (or 101 in some places), is a highway that runs along 650+ miles of California’s coast; the views, as you can imagine, are stunning. If you want, you can start in the redwood forests in the north and take the PCH all the way down to San Diego, making your way through San Francisco, Monterey, Big Sur, and Los Angeles along the way. This [site](https://www.gapyear.com/articles/travel-ideas/13-incredible-stops-on-the-pacific-coast-highway) has a map showing the route as well as write-ups on some of the more popular stops. Ben and Rey’s trip was a much more manageable 116 miles (187 km).
> 
> The **[Rancho Valencia Resort](https://ranchovalencia.com/)** is a five-star resort on 40 private acres. It’s made up of twenty casitas which house 49 suites. It is very lux and very pricey; the standard rate for a two-night stay in the Valencia Suite — the largest one-bedroom suite the Rancho Valencia offers — over Memorial Day Weekend is around $3,500, assuming you’re booking room-only; the resort also offers packages that include breakfast and spa services.
> 
> The **San Diego Zoo** and **Safari Park** are phenomenal, and if you have a chance to go, I highly encourage you to do so. There is a guided tour bus that traverses most of the zoo and an overhead gondola lift (the Skyfari) that helps make it more manageable, but you can easily spend a very full day (or more) there, so be warned.
> 
> La Jolla’s **seals** and **sea lions** are a popular [tourist attraction](https://www.lajolla.com/article/la-jolla-cove-seals-8-things-need-know-before-visiting/); the smell is astounding, but it’s fun to watch them bark at each other and flop around on the rocks, and there are several yummy gelato shops nearby, which is enough to get me to go nearly anywhere.


	43. i’ve been holding back this feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play.
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.

**June 6, 2019**

Is it awkward that she noticed the date? Ben used to have to remind her of things like that. She’s not sure when that changed.

She’s laughing, not just at his response but the expression she imagines he made as he typed it — wincing to think of any similarity between himself and his parents — and she comes frighteningly close to sending the worst-possible reply: _God, Ben, I love you_. But if she’d sent what she’d typed, there’s no amount of laughing emojis that would have made it okay. No way to explain, without making it worse, that she’d only meant it the way she does when she says it to Finn. Because even that is too much. Sure, Ben said she’s his friend, his _best_ friend, and that means— well, she’s not quite sure what it means to him, because she’s understood, for a while, that she’s more intense than other people. That since she’s always had less, she holds tighter to what she _does_ have. And while she can’t change who she is, _how_ she is, she doesn’t have to push it on Ben. Doesn’t have to make it his problem.

It’s only after she finishes erasing her text that Rey realizes she’s shaking slightly. She reminds herself of what she should be focusing on. Why they started this in the first place. Her presales start in 21 days. It’s time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's rendition of “The One”:**
> 
> You see you lookin' at the truth,  
but money never lie, no  
I'm the one, yeah, I'm the one  
Early mornin' in the Dawn  
Know you wanna ride now  
I'm the one, yeah, I'm the one, yeah  
I know you're sick of all those other imitators  
Don't let the only real one intimidate ya  
I know you watchin', don't run outta time now  
I'm the one, yeah
> 
> If you prefer to play Halsey’s cover in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/FSdh8Dos7GQ); to listen to the full song, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HCEeWFMPQ4).


	44. never seen nobody shine the way you do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play. 
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.
> 
> **nfsw**

**June 20, 2019**

“Alright, it’s up.” She angles her phone so Ben can see the post, relaxing back into his arms. She really _should_ get out of bed, but can she be blamed for taking a few more minutes to enjoy the feel of his skin against hers?

“Should I be concerned that you’re putting words in my mouth?” he asks, but he’s not even pretending to be concerned. With the way his chin is tucked into her shoulder, she can't see his expression, but she can perfectly picture the soft, teasing smile that colors his tone.

When she replies, she’s smiling, too. “I thought it was the safest way to avoid any rumors that my song choice meant we spend all our time stoned out of our minds or some—” It’s the lightest kiss, just the brush of his lips against her neck, but her breath still skips, and it takes more effort than it should to get it back. Her voice is strained when she continues. “—some rubbish like that.”

He hums into her skin as his fingers begin to make lazy circuits up and down her leg, and it takes a Herculean effort not to give in to the full-body shiver that threatens to overtake her. “Makes sense,” he agrees, his voice rough with sleep and something else.

She can’t quite make sense of anything at the moment. All she can focus on is the way his hand is drifting closer and closer to where she wants it. She wants to turn to face him, to coax him to move faster, but the arm he isn’t using to drive her wild is banded around her waist, and as if he can hear her thoughts, he pulls her tighter against his chest, pinning her in place. It’s a good thing she has no desire to escape him, because Ben — body fitted against hers, hand trailing achingly close to the junction of her thighs, mouth at her neck — is _everywhere._

His lips brush over the sensitive skin of her neck again and she arches to give him better access — part instinct, part demand. He chuckles, and the feel of it against her skin, together with the teasing advance-and-retreat of his dancing fingertips on her leg draws a whine from her.

The arm he’s using to keep her lodged against the solid strength of him flexes, and for a moment, his fingers dig into the curve of her hip. She wonders if perhaps he isn’t as in control as he seems. But he hushes her, and it’s hard to think of anything as his other hand continues its inexorable path up her thigh. She can feel how hard he is now, isn’t sure how she missed it before, and she’s suddenly aware of how wet she is. The thought of how he will feel sliding into her, how he will _stretch_ her, has her trying to use the little bit of leverage she has to grind back on him.

He tightens his hold on her, stilling her movements, and gently nips at her neck. “Easy,” he murmurs, and it sounds _easy_ for him, too — doesn’t he _feel_ this heat?

Her hand is in his hair, and from his muffled groan, that’s a good thing. She inhales a lungful of his scent and can’t help but agree. She’d happily drown in it — tobacco, vanilla, and cedar, according to his shampoo bottle, but something else that’s just _Ben_.

“Hold on to the headboard for me, sweetheart,” he coaxes, so she loosens her hold on his hair, but he stops her — ”No, your other hand. And lift your leg for me?” He guides her to rest it on top of his, and rocks back so that she’s lying on her back on top of him, head resting on his shoulder, legs on either side of his, splayed open for him. With one hand holding on to the rungs of the headboard and the other anchored in his soft-as-silk hair, her breasts are at his mercy too; whether it was planned or coincidence, he takes advantage of it. He traces lazy circuits just below her breasts, his touch featherlight. His hand practically spans the width of her torso, but he refuses to do more than graze her skin with his fingertips. Her nipples are hard points, and she tosses her head in frustration, the only movement left to her. He tips his head up and she feels a stream of air arc over her pebbled skin. It is too much and not enough.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he murmurs.

From his distracted tone of voice, she wonders if he meant to say it aloud — but the thought is quickly lost, because there is only room to think about where Ben is touching her and where she wants him — _needs _him — to touch her. She writhes, trying to bring her nipples closer to his fingers, playing delicately at the underside of her breasts. Desperate to have him touch her, _fill_ her, where she is so aching empty. And she feels him, hard and hot and heavy between her legs. He could be inside her in _seconds, _and she wants it so desperately she could cry for it.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he says in that same low tone.

She’s sure, now, without knowing how, that his words aren’t for her, but they’re exactly what she wants — for him to take care of her, to make her feel good. She thinks_ yes,_ and _please_, or maybe she says it, because he relents, finally, one roughened thumb brushing a nipple so eager for his touch it almost hurts. His other hand teases her folds, grazing the sensitive bud of her clit with every pass. She cries out, wanting to buck with it, but she _can’t,_ because his muscled thighs have her pinned in place. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice hoarse — as if she needs reminding that she is at his mercy, when he’s arranged her to his liking, made every inch of her body available for him to tease and torture. And it _is_ torture, the light, slow, almost lazy way he’s touching her, as if he hasn’t noticed her whole world narrowing to the bundle of nerves between her legs and the patterns he’s drawing there. As if he hasn’t noticed that she is _shaking_ with need. As if he hasn’t noticed that she is so wet she is _dripping _on his cock. 

Her cunt clenches on _nothing,_ and he shifts, and — he doesn’t slip inside her, doesn’t start to grind against her. He just lets his cock — hard, thick, hot — nestle into her folds, and she has the wild thought that this, just _this,_ is better than it’s ever been with anyone else. 

He shifts her like she’s a ragdoll, moving her up on his body, and the only thing that keeps her from crying out in frustration is the hope that he is making space between them so that he can enter her. But it’s his fingers that she feels dipping into her. Shallow movements that seem intended to make her aware of how empty she is, how much she–

“Need you, Ben, _please,”_ she begs.

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, and the blessed man _does_ drag his thumb against her clit with more purpose, “let me make you come like this first. Make you feel so good,” he promises.

But it’s too late now, because even as her hips move helplessly in time with the rhythm he’s setting, all she can think about, all she wants is– “Please, _please, _need you inside me,” she whines, “want to come on your cock.”

He swears and wrenches her head towards him for a filthy kiss, his tongue rough against hers, demanding, consuming. She breaks off to whimper his name and he swears again. “Yes, yes, whatever you want, _fuck,_ Rey, you’re gonna kill me.”

There is a chance that he is trying to meet her demands as quickly as he can — it might even be likely. But being a needy mess is finally getting her what she wants, so she gives free rein to her stream of consciousness. Breathlessly tells him how badly she wants him inside her, how she’s been aching for him, how she loves the way he fills her up. A small corner of her brain attempts to catalog his reactions — what elicits a growl, what he rewards with a hard swipe at her clit — but it all blurs together, until she tells him how good he makes her feel. He curses and bites down on her shoulder. She thinks, briefly, of the way he’ll sometimes bite the pillow, or his own fist, when he comes. Like the feeling is so good he’s scared he’ll hurt someone with it. But then the thought is forgotten, because he’s finally, _finally_ notching himself at her entrance. He eases into her, one hand on the flat of her stomach, the other continuing its maddening circles around her clit. 

“Had a dream _just_ like _this,”_ he pants, punctuating his statement with slow thrusts that draw a throaty moan from her.

“Good– good dream,” she manages to reply.

“All my dreams of you are good,” he whispers into her hair, but before she can think of a suitable reply, he returns his attention to her clit. She shudders, and as good as it felt before, it is so much _more_ with him stretching her, _filling_ her, like she wanted.

It is a kaleidoscope of feeling, sensations flaring to prominence and then collapsing into a jumble of frantic color when something new demands her focus — the heel of his hand, low on her abdomen, adding pressure when she already feels _stuffed_ with him; the slide of his fingers against her clit, swollen from his attentions; the way his cock is angled to drag so perfectly against that roughened patch inside her. She doesn’t want it to end. She might not survive another minute. 

She feels herself tense, and Ben must feel it, too. His hand clenches at the soft flesh of her hip, the sharp bite of his fingers a bright counterpoint to the slow, slick way he’s petting her clit. His hand snakes from her hip to band around her waist, anchoring her to him. Holding her right where he wants her as he fucks into her. “Want you to come, sweetheart,” he urges, “come on my cock.”

And there’s something about hearing those filthy words — her words — in his straining voice, that sends her over the edge.

The spring that has been coiled so tightly _explodes_ free, and with the little bit of leverage she has, one hand still anchored in his hair, the other on his headboard, she _slams_ down on him. She is already so full, but she needs, desperately, to take all of him, to feel him flush against her, to let him ground her. He holds her there, tight against him, when her body wants to bow with the pleasure of it, her cunt clenching as the electric release floods her system. He whispers words that he must know she’s too far gone to understand. Her eyes squeeze shut as she cries out, long, loud, desperate. 

When she comes down from it, she realizes that she has possibly bruised his thighs, probably left impressions of her fingernails in his headboard, and certainly abused his scalp.

“Sorry,” she pants, relaxing her grip on his hair to rub soothing fingers at the spot she’s sure is now tender.

“Don’t be.” She can hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “It means you enjoyed yourself.”

She hums in agreement. “I really, really did. Let’s see if we can’t show you a good time, too, hmm?” She clamps down around him and his fingers dig into the soft flesh at her hips as he thrusts up into her.

“Fuck,” he swears softly.

“That’s the idea,” she returns with a smile. She understands his sentiment, though, because, _fuck,_ it felt good, and she’s already come once. And there’s something about the way he tilts her hips up and down, moving her body to his liking, that is intoxicating. All she has to do is lay there, let him move her, mold her, stretch her, shape her. Let him make her feel good. Ben will take care of everything, so how can there be anything to worry about?

His voice is low and rough when he asks, “Touch yourself for me?” 

Somehow he hasn’t realized how hard it is for her to say no to him, and in this case, why would she refuse him? She snakes her hand down, finding herself soaked. She traces around where he is _splitting_ her open, shuddering at the feel of it, wishing she could see it, too. At the thought, she feels herself get even wetter, and she drags her soaked fingers up, swirling around and against her swollen clit. Her fingers are so much smaller than his; she uses two, but it’s not the same. Her free hand drifts up to pinch her nipple as her eyes drift shut and she _moans–_

He rocks up into her, hard, and already, the pressure is building again.

“I can feel it,” he huffs out, “the way you’re _clenching_ on me.” His fingers dig into her hips. “Fuck, Rey. How _wet_ you are. How hot. How _perfect.”_ He draws a ragged breath. “You have no idea how perfect you are. _No idea._”

Her second orgasm is a shivering thing that sneaks up on her and doesn’t want to let go. His pace — bucking up into her and pushing her hips down onto him — is frenzied and then he stutters, once, twice, as he buries his face in her neck with a low groan. 

Somehow, though, it’s not then, when he’s inside her, that she feels most exposed, or even later, when they manage to drag themselves to his shower to clean off. It’s when he finally remembers to ask why she’d chosen that particular cover to mark his birthday. She only gets as far as “a bull and a matador dueling in the sky” and he gets the constellation reference and all it signals. After all, he’d been stoic at the ten-year ‘celebration of life’ Leia had put on for Han the week prior, but when he’d taken her stargazing that night, they’d both pretended he wasn’t crying. She hadn’t known what to do with his tears, had felt useless sitting next to him, silent, when he was probably wishing her gone. A song seemed like the least she could do. He doesn’t meet her eyes when he whispers his thanks, but she thinks, this time, that might mean that she got it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday (from Halsey’s cover of Frank Ocean’s “Solo”):**
> 
> Solo, solo  
Solo, solo  
Solo, solo  
It's hell on Earth and the city's on fire  
Inhale, in hell there's heaven  
And there's a bull and a matador dueling in the sky  
Inhale, in hell there's heaven  
Uh, uh, uh,  
Uh, oh, oh,  
Oh, oh, oh-whoa, whoa-whoa  
Oh, oh, oh, oh-whoa-oh,  
Oh, oh-whoa-oh  
Yeah  
Solo, solo  
Solo, solo
> 
> If you prefer to play the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/C86TK_nzHe8); to listen to Halsey’s full cover, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9Sy_ugXi30).


	45. i've got some things to say

**June 27, 2019**

The article won’t come out until the September issue, just before her album drops, but scheduling the interview now worked for everyone’s schedule, and it will give the magazine plenty of time for edits. 

She’s offered tea and she picks an herbal flavor that sounds horrid. A bizarre tip from Poe’s team, but it’s surprisingly effective at keeping her from getting too comfortable during interviews like this. Americans do many things right, but tea is not one. She’s led to a pair of matching armchairs set against the windows; with its deep blue walls, scattered furniture, and potted plants, the space looks more like someone’s posh sitting room than a conference room in an office building. When she sinks into the offered chair, she’s glad for the sickly sweet…she won’t even dignify it by calling it ‘tea’; the kindest description she can muster is ‘hot flavored water.’ Because they’ve clearly chosen this chair to lull her into a false sense of security — the cushions cradle her back, telling her she needn’t worry about a thing. The fabric — velvet? — says life can always be this soft, if only she lets go. Maybe she can find out where the chair is from after they’re finished. She takes a bracing sip of her drink and sends a reassuring smile to the PR person Poe’s assigned to chaperone her today.

The interviewer, BB, gives her a quick rundown of how the article will be formatted so that she understands how they need her to phrase her responses, and they begin.

“Can you talk about your writing process? Where does your inspiration come from?” It’s a fairly standard question, but BB seems genuinely interested, a bright smile on their face as they fidget in their chair — as if they’re so eager for her response, they can’t sit still. She finds herself matching BB’s smile.

“I used to busk in Tube stations. I lived rather far outside the city proper” — an understatement — ”but I’d earn more the further in I went.” Another understatement; the kind of people who had money to throw away on a girl strumming a second-hand guitar only knew her neighborhood from the nightly news. ”So I spent a fair bit of time on the train. I’d find myself developing these elaborate daydreams of what the other passengers’ lives were like.” 

She draws idle patterns in the velvet of the chair cushion. Sometimes the stories had been patently ridiculous, especially at the end of a grueling day, when she’d been punch-drunk with exhaustion and desperate to keep herself from falling asleep. Desperate, because if she succumbed to sleep and her guitar got nicked, that was the end for her, the end of her zealously guarded dream. It’s still hard to breathe when she thinks about the crushing pressure she’d been under. How she’d had to tell herself every morning she was one stroke of good luck away from everything coming together. How she’d gone to sleep every night knowing she was one stroke of bad luck away from everything falling apart. 

She swallows down another sip of her too-sweet drink, hoping it serves as a cover for her pause, and manages a weak smile for BB. “A lot of those daydreams ended up in my songs. There’s almost always something that’s true to my own life in there, too, though.”

“Oh, could you give us an example?” BB leans forward slightly, as if the recorder between them isn’t enough to ensure they won’t miss a word from her.

“Um, certainly.” She has an answer prepared. She has answers to _many_ questions prepared, thanks to Poe’s team, but something about BB’s rapt attention reminds her that there are people who care about her music. People who care about her answers to these questions. It makes her want to open up a bit. Nothing _too_ revealing, but a little more than she’d planned. “So in the song _Roman Holiday_, there’s a line about stealing my mother’s perfume and my father punching a wall. My own mother died when I was very young, and I never knew my father.” 

“Wow,” BB breathes out. Their eyes search hers, but if BB is expecting Rey to break down over that, they’ll be disappointed. Someone on Poe’s team had very delicately approached her weeks before to say that they understood, of course, that she used cheerfulness to cover her grief over her absent parents, but since the general public might not be quite so understanding, could she possibly try to seem a little less chipper when she talked about them? 

To say the transition hadn’t been easy was an understatement. By the end of her media training, everyone on Poe’s team had barked some version of “we _don’t_ smile when talking about our dead parents!” at her. But judging by her PR chaperone’s satisfied expression, Rey’s managed to be suitably downcast this time, and she exhales, feeling her shoulders relax. If BB thinks it’s on behalf of her dear departed mother or her absent father, all the better. 

“The first half of that line, I can still picture it so clearly; I saw this woman, loaded down with shopping bags, and her daughter, probably 13 or 14, with this absolutely covetous look locked on a little perfume shop bag her mum was holding.” 

The memory is so vivid, and she feels almost fond, thinking of the young girl, eyes round with want and _clearly_ willing to do just about anything to get what she so desperately wanted. Rey had recognized the look immediately; after all, she saw it every time she looked in the mirror. 

“The idea of the girl sneaking into her mother’s bedroom to steal a spritz of that perfume stuck with me.” She looks out the window, but whether the view is dazzling or dull, she couldn’t say. She returns her focus to BB. “And then the second half of that line, about my father punching a wall — I never knew my father, but some of my foster placements weren’t so great, and I had a foster father who would take his frustration out on the walls.” Among other things. 

She’s careful to keep her expression soft, serene, and when she continues, her voice doesn’t betray the slightest hint of unease. She feels a fierce thrill of pride at that, but she doesn’t let that show on her face either. 

“That’s pretty typical for me; a mix of things taken from my life, or only slightly edited, and things I’ve invented whole cloth.”

BB glances up from the notes they’re taking. “You mentioned writing on the Tube — what’s your favorite spot, or spots, for writing?” 

She’d thought that BB was one of the rare members of the press who was actually more interested in her music than her messy past, but it’s still a relief to be proven right. She doesn’t visibly relax, because she hadn’t allowed herself to tense up — Poe’s team had drilled her until easy tells like that were a thing of the past — but the tightness she’d been holding in the arches of her feet and below her toes, safely hidden in her surprisingly comfortable heels, seeps away. The answer to BB’s question comes easily.

“You know, I don’t think I realized this until you just asked me” — the truth, but her media training might have been too effective, because it’s instinct, now, to tamp down on her feelings when she’s in the public eye. Not helpful, in a situation like this. She plasters a smile on, thinking it can’t be too different from singing; wearing the right expression should help her sound less like a zombie — ”but a common thread seems to be that I write best when I’m in motion. When I first moved to the U.S., I had the worst case of writer's block; I got a little panicked about it, and it didn’t break until I went on a long drive.” This time, her smile comes easily; she’s thinking about writing the lyrics of “Drive” in the passenger seat of Ben’s car, that day he’d taken her all the way to San Diego for lunch at Maz’s. The first time they’d really spent time together off the clock. She comes back to herself with a start she’s not sure she hides, though BB gives no hint of noticing anything out of the ordinary. “I’ve written songs on airplanes, too. Maybe it’s something about knowing that I’m headed somewhere that helps me. I’m not sure.”

“We never see photos of you partying, so I suppose I’d assumed you were more of a homebody — I guess you’re very good at staying out of the press,” BB suggests, head tilted.

She feels an almost-hysterical laugh threaten to break out of her, but she beats it back. ‘Good at staying out of the press?’ Has BB looked at any magazine other than their own lately? Because it’s only gotten slightly better since she hired — okay, since Ben convinced her to hire — security to lurk around whenever she’s not behind the safety of his gate, but she and Ben are still regularly plastered across the front of gossip rags. 

Which is the point, she reminds herself.

“I’m not really one for going out to clubs and things like that, but I suppose I don’t think of myself as a homebody either.” She still hasn’t gotten the hang of having a home, so even if she is a homebody at heart, how would she know? “I definitely get antsy about staying in one place too long or having too much time to think. A therapist would probably have a field day with me.” She says it with a laugh, so BB knows it’s okay for them to laugh along, too, but the interviewer just gives her a soft smile.

“So how do you keep busy, then?” BB asks as they reach for their cup of coffee. Perhaps the caffeine intake explains why BB seems to have such a difficult time being still; it’s as if they have to make a conscious effort not to wiggle around in their chair.

“Oh, nothing too surprising.” She could answer the ‘hobbies’ questions in her sleep. “Just running and—”

“Sorry, could we try that again? Since my questions won’t be in the article, it’s important that you answer in full sentences, or else we end up having to cut your response and it can sound pretty awkward.” BB’s kept their composure through talk of dead parents and damaged walls, but the thought of awkward prose brings a grimace to their face, and Rey has to bite back a smile at the way their nose crinkles.

“Right, sorry.” BB _had_ been clear about how to phrase her answers, but it’s a really odd way to speak, and the more comfortable Rey gets, the harder it is to remember there’s a format to stick to. But it’s better this way; she has no business getting comfortable, even in a friendly interview like this. She takes a sip of the fruity sugar water; it’s already cold, but what does she expect? It was barely warm when they handed it to her. 

BB assures her she’s doing great and repeats the question.

“I don’t spend my free time doing anything terrifically exciting: it’s mostly running and spending time with friends,” she says, with a shrug of her shoulders. BB seems to be expecting her to say more, but there really isn’t anything else. It would be a stretch to call running a hobby, and nothing else comes close; now, more than ever, her life revolves around music. “I suppose I do have a bad habit of sneaking in work when I’m supposed to be relaxing.” Ben’s efforts to curtail that behavior only get so far when he’s at least as guilty of it as she is, but given how easily she loses herself in work, it is nice to have someone to remind her to come up for air. It helps that Ben _gets_ it; he doesn’t try to tell her she should take it easy — they both know these next few months could make or break her career — but he does make sure she eats and sleeps and…just breathes, sometimes. “I’m definitely a workaholic, but fortunately my friends are in the industry, so they get it.”

“And who are those friends?” If it were anyone else asking, Rey would be certain the innocent tone was an act — after all, a not insignificant part of her celebrity is due to her relationship with Ben — but she meets BB’s eyes, round with question, and they are entirely guileless.

“They’re not terribly exciting either, and I purposely fouled that answer up because I don’t want you to include it,” she says teasingly. 

In a disinterested tone that suggests they simply need to confirm what they already know to be true, BB asks “You can’t give us anything more?” They don’t even look up from their pad, and perhaps it’s _because_ they don’t pressure her to do so that Rey changes her mind.

“I don’t have a lot of free time, but I spend most of it with Ben. He had just finished recording _Solo_ when we started dating, and I started work on my album a few weeks later, so we’ve been on a similar schedule.” A relentless schedule, but the readers don’t want to hear that. “It’s been nice to have that time together. And my best friend Finn works with us at Resistance Records, which is wonderful.”

Given how much time she’s been spending with Ben, it’s a good thing she runs into Finn on a regular basis at Resistance; otherwise, she might never see him, despite the fact that they technically still live together. Her drink seems, somehow, to be getting sweeter; she takes a punishingly long sip. Finn gave up his whole life to be here for her, and she’s basically abandoned him. She has no excuse for not making time for him; it’s just one of the many things she keeps telling herself she’ll do tomorrow, only to fall into bed the next night having left it undone. It’s just— she has so little time left with Ben. She has to make the most of it. For the publicity. For the album.

“That’s right, you’re dating Ben Organa Solo!” BB is possibly the only interviewer in the world who would need to be reminded of this. “When I tweeted about interviewing you, people went a little wild in the replies, wanting me to ask about him.” BB says this with a sort of helpless smile that seems to suggest they don’t get what the fuss is all about, though they understand it’s part of their job to find out. “What can you share?”

“Ben is—” She couldn’t have asked for a more open-ended question. She _must_ have practiced an answer that would fit, but somehow, her mind is drawing a total blank. It’s not as though she doesn’t have anything to say about Ben, though. ”Ben is very hardworking, but he’s always reminding me to relax and take in the moment. He gives more kindness than he expects to receive.” He deserves _everything_ and expects almost nothing, and she feels a fleeting wish that she could change that, somehow. Help him see what he deserves. Give it to him. But— that’s not her place. Which reminds her that she shouldn’t be saying things like she just said. Not ever, but certainly not in an interview that will be published months from now. _Keep it light. Casual. Things that won’t hurt either of us when it’s—_ She smiles brightly. “He’s funny, he’s very smart, and he’s _never_ going to let me forget any of this if he reads this article, so I’m going to stop there,” she says with a laugh.

The rest of the interview is softball questions: what is it like to go viral (exciting), to get signed (exciting), to be gearing up for her tour (exciting), and to have an album coming out soon (exciting, and she’s running out of new ways to say that).

BB seems happy with her responses, though, and so does her Poe-assigned babysitter. The photoshoot is her least favorite part, but Bazine has worked her magic, so at least Rey feels confident about what she’s wearing. She doesn’t quite see the point in the microscopic adjustments the photographer and her assistant make to her posture, the tilt of her head, the way her hands are held, how her hair falls; she looks the way she looks, and these tiny adjustments can’t make that much of a difference. But she’s done enough painfully protracted photoshoots to be used to them by now, and in any case, she trusts Poe’s judgment; if he says they’re worth it, then they’re worth it. Besides, presales start tomorrow, and she’s too anxious about _that_ to be worried about anything else.


	46. nothing’s as it seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Britishisms: **
> 
> _Flat:_ apartment
> 
> _Lift:_ elevator
> 
> _Holiday:_ vacation

**July 3, 2019**

His text brings a giddy smile to her face, but Rey quickly schools her expression. She needs to give Ben one last out, and she can’t let him know how desperately she hopes he doesn’t take it. While she searches for her keys, she calls him. She keeps meaning to get a couple of small dishes like Ben has on his hall table — although part of the beauty of that designated spot for her keys is Ben’s sixth sense for when she sets them down anywhere else. She hasn’t sunk to intentionally dropping them elsewhere and timing how long it takes for him to notice, but the thought has crossed her mind. She finally finds her keys hiding underneath the jacket she’s planning to wear on the plane and just barely manages to stifle her shout of triumph before Ben picks up.

“Hey.” She hears the smile in his voice and finds her face has drawn up in an answering grin. It’s just that she’s seen Ben take phone calls — a lot of phone calls — and he’s never happy about it. So as ridiculous as it seems, she thinks he might just be happy to talk to _her. _

“Hi,” she replies after a beat too long. Christ, is she a teenager? She slips out of her flat, walking towards the lift.

He laughs quietly. “Did you just call to say hi?”

“No, no. I just wanted to” — she adopts a serene expression; if she can hear Ben’s smile, she’s sure he’ll hear hers, if she’s wearing one — “Ben, if you don’t want to go, or even if you’re not sure, we don’t have to.”

“Rey—” he protests.

“No, I mean it. We could go to Aspen instead—” He’s mentioned it a few times, his family’s place out in…Colorado, she thinks? Her U.S. geography is shaky. It’s not the right season for skiing, obviously, but she’s sure it’s lovely in the summer, too. Besides, where they go isn’t the point.

“Yeah, but we can go to Aspen anytime, and— Are you waiting for the elevator?” He must have heard it ding. 

“Yeah, one’s here, but I don’t want to lose you.” She coughs. “The call, I mean, because the reception—”

Her cheeks are flaring with heat, but, for some reason, his quiet laughter eases her embarrassment. “Easy, I get it,” he reassures her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for you.”

When she lets him into the building, he picks up the conversation right where they’d left it, and she bites her lip, knowing she’ll have a harder time hiding her feelings now that he’s next to her.

“Like I was saying, we can do a weekend at Aspen whenever, but” — he pauses, waits until they’re in the privacy of the lift to continue — ”everyone’s going to be at the beach— well, Aunt Ami’s still doing her Doctors without Borders thing.” For a moment, he looks like a child told he cannot have his favorite toy, sullen and pouting, but then his face clears. “But everyone else is there. My mom, Chewie, Bodhi, Kay, Jyn and Cass, and Boss and Cheery.”

Baze and Chirrut, he means, but she’s never heard Ben refer to the men by anything other than the nicknames he’d assigned to them when he was a child — and if it weren’t for the intense _Rogue One_ phase she’d gone through during her pre-teen years, she still might not know their real names. She’d happened upon videos of Jyn and her band years after they’d stopped touring, but that hadn’t stopped her from devouring every detail she could about them, down to the names of the managing duo who’d helped them climb to the top of every list of ‘acts you just have to see live.’ It’s a bit of a head-trip, knowing that people she idolized probably changed Ben’s nappies. But back to the topic at hand.

“I know, but — ” She’s going to shred her lip if she doesn’t stop biting it. “Leia mentioned that you don’t really do the whole…family holiday thing.” He must hear the words she’s not saying. _Not since your dad died._

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and Ben’s staring at the lift doors, lost in thought. He sighs heavily and then turns to her, catching her eye before she can look away. They’re standing side-by-side, barely any space separating them, and he hardly has to move to bump his arm against hers gently.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anyone to suffer through it with me before, did I?” he asks, his lips quirking up in a smile.

She’s not sure how to respond, but before she’s forced to, the chime of the lift doors opening pierces the quiet, startling them both. They laugh at themselves, a little embarrassed, but it’s not quite enough to dispel the heaviness of the moment. She chooses her words carefully. Tries to tell him, with her teasing tone and the smile in her eyes, that she appreciates what he said. She’s not dismissing it, just — taking some of the weight from it. “Last time I checked, a tweet from TheRealBOS could reach about 15 million people willing to ‘suffer through it’ with you.”

“Fifteen?” Disbelief colors his tone and a thrill goes through her — she gets to be the one to share this news with him.

She tugs him into her flat, closing the door behind them. “I checked when I was waiting for the Uber this morning and you were still at 14.9, so it must have happened in the last couple of hours.” Her smile feels wide enough to split her face. “I thought you must have seen.”

“I didn’t.” He sounds dazed, almost, looking at her. “I haven’t been looking closely since you—”

“Oh.” The sound escapes her without her permission. She’d crossed the million mark a few days ago. An incredible achievement, considering she hasn’t released an album yet — although, with just over two months to go, it’s creeping closer every day. Ben had made a ridiculous fuss over her social media milestone — in the privacy of his home, of course, because even though fame is their lifeblood, it would be considered vulgar to admit that they’re courting attention. He’d presented her with a cake decked out with candles — ‘1’ and ‘M’ to represent her one million Twitter followers — and even when she’d assumed someone had alerted him to the milestone, she’d been touched by the gesture.

He misinterprets her reaction, assumes she’s sad to be reminded that his following dwarfs hers, and his voice radiates sincerity when he promises they’ll get her there.

“No, Ben, I’m just” — she bites her lip, searching for the words — ”let me be happy for you, okay? And proud of you. Because I really, really am.”

She sees a pained expression paint his face before he wraps her in his arms. “Rey,” he begins somberly, “we are about to get in a car to go to an airport to board a cross-country flight, right?”

She murmurs her agreement, head tucked against his chest. She’s not sure where he’s going with this, but to be fair, she’s somewhat distracted by his hands skimming down to grip her hips. His thumbs toy with the edge of her top, grazing bare skin.

“At no time in the next eight hours, probably longer” — he swears under his breath — ”will we have a minute to ourselves, right?”

She nods into his shirt, her throat catching as his thumbs start to trace circles on her skin.

“So if you are a merciful woman, you will _not_ say things that make me even _more_ desperate to get my head between your thighs than usual, right?”

His fingers dig into her hips and she sways towards him, or maybe it’s the other way around, and she can _feel_ how very desperate he is. She whimpers because he’s right; they’re on a schedule, and if they take time for what they’re both clearly in desperate need of, they’ll miss their flight.

_Fuck the ‘family holiday’._

She doesn’t realize she’s said it out loud until Ben starts chuckling.

“You’ll be glad when we’re there,” he promises. He takes a deep breath, and she copies him. “And I have an idea for how we can make the most out of our hours of purgatory.”

“Yeah?” She sounds pitiful, needy, to her own ears, but if anyone’s to blame, it’s him, for working her up like this.

“Yeah. Tiny white lie, overly complicated plot, right up your alley.” 

She snorts. Thank god. She’s going to need a distraction.

Ben’s scheme works, and Rey’s superstitious enough to believe that might be because she’d told him it wouldn’t. By the time she turns airplane mode off, her follower count has _skyrocketed. _She hands her phone over so Ben can send his usual text — with her sitting next to him, only Leia needs to be informed that he’s landed safely — and his smug smile is nearly insufferable. But anything is better than the tension he’s spent the whole flight trying to tamp down. He’d never managed to settle during the five and half hours they’d been in the air; his restlessness so obvious that the flight attendants had tried to press an airsick bag on him before they’d started the descent. He’d been fine, of course; it was the destination, not the journey, that was responsible for his nerves. 

If they were really dating, maybe she’d press the issue, try to get him to talk about why he’s been avoiding a place that holds so many happy memories — and why he’s decided to end his self-imposed exile now. But as close as they’ve become, that doesn’t feel like a conversation for friends. So instead, she distracts him as best she can on their drive to the cottage, proposing increasingly ridiculous tweets that she threatens to send with his name signed to them, tugging his hand to call his attention to things that catch her eye. She doesn’t think too hard about leaving her hand in his. When her lungs don’t want to work, he reminds her how to breathe. Giving him something to hold onto — in comparison, it’s a small thing.

That night, it feels even smaller.

The texts from Finn come within minutes, as she’s setting her phone alarm for the next morning — Ben insists it’s not necessary, but she doesn’t want to be the guest who everyone has to tiptoe around all day, and she’s not confident her internal clock has adjusted to switching coasts. 

With album presales in full swing and tour sales launching next month, Finn’s workload of late has been almost exclusively focused on marketing _her._ He doesn’t see the sales figures, but from what they’ve been told, the numbers look good so far — _really_ good — a fact that sends a spark of _something_ shuddering through her veins. She can’t put a name to the feeling, though, because there’s no such thing as stage-fright for sales. It’s a comfort, at least, to have Finn running promo for her — he’d been her hype man from the start, back when ‘hype’ meant showing up to her stretch of pavement with the money she’d earned the day before, ready to toss it into her guitar case when a likely mark walked by, hoping they’d feel compelled to do the same. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right? 

And now, he’s one of the few people who know the truth of her relationship with Ben. It’d made sense to ring him on their drive to the airport to get an outside opinion on Ben’s Twitter scheme. Traitor that he is, Finn had loved the idea, not least because it gave them an excuse to use ridiculous code words. They were still careful — so careful — about what they put in writing, so Finn had proposed that they pretend to be talking about a Words With Friends game instead. Begrudgingly, she could admit that it had been a surprisingly effective way to communicate without revealing the true subject matter of their conversations — not that she’d admit that to Finn.

Bless him for immediately understanding her meaning. She feels a little guilty about texting while Ben’s trying to sleep, but at the same time, now that Finn’s on the other end of the phone, she’s itching for his perspective. If she’d needed a phone call to explain that their Spotify tweets had been genuine, she’s not sure she could have resisted slipping out of bed to make it — even though she’s fairly certain Ben would have been lying awake until she came back, no matter how long the call stretched on.

She glances over at him, the dim light from her screen throwing his dark hair into sharp contrast against the white linen of the pillowcase. She can just glimpse the tips of his ears peeking out, and though she can’t see his face — doesn’t even know whether he’s sleeping or just pretending to be, to give her the illusion of privacy — she knows what she’d see if he turned towards her now. Warmth. Gentleness. Ease. 

He’s kind with such casualness that it almost feels cruel. Like he doesn’t know how rare it is. How precious. Except that he _does_ know that. How often had he looked for kindness and been disappointed? From his parents, his uncle, even Snoke? Which makes her feel all the worse that she can’t reciprocate.

No matter how much effort she puts into it, she’d never come close to what he does so easily — without even seeming to think about it. Ben stirs, then quiets, and she swallows down the lump in her throat. She gives herself a mental shake. Of course _she_ resents being stunted like this — the only inheritance she can claim from her useless parents is emotional baggage — but it’s ridiculous to think it bothers her fake boyfriend. And it shouldn’t upset her either, since it’s not exactly a surprise; she’s never been good with people. Fiercely possessive of those who were never hers to hold, taking taking _taking_ when she had nothing to give.

It’s easy to slip into their old familiar patterns — Finn lecturing her to be responsible, her having none of it. But she can’t backslide when it comes to Ben, can’t make the mistakes she made when she was a child.

She’ll be grateful for what Ben gives her, won’t ask for anything more.

Not because she hopes he’ll stay with her. She is not so much a fool as to hope for that. But maybe — No. She sets her phone on the nightstand beside the bed and curls her body around his, refusing to think of anything other than the way his body rises and falls with each breath he takes. Counting sheep has always been an exercise in frustration, but with her arm wrapped around him, there is something comforting, almost meditative, in keeping track of the way his lungs expand and contract. Without meaning to, she finds her breath syncing with his, and she’s asleep before she knows it.


	47. held on tight

**July 4, 2019**

The sun’s up when she wakes, but just barely, and Ben’s breathing is slow and even. When she’d seen this bedroom tucked away at the end of the house, with its soothing grey walls, fluffy white linens, and a little balcony overlooking the dunes, it had seemed perfect — and then Ben had opened the windows. She’d fallen asleep to the sound of his deep breaths and of waves breaking over the shore. Now, light is seeping in through the sheer curtains, coating everything in honeyed yellow.

It’s not a surprise to see that Ben’s kicked off the covers and pushed the sheet down to his waist. Even though the evenings are cool here on the Massachusetts coast, the light-filled room is already starting to warm up, and he always runs hot. 

It’s not often that she wakes before him, and even more rare that she has time to enjoy the view. She takes advantage of the opportunity to savor the sight of his sleeping form. The vee of his hips. The veins on his forearms. The curve of his bicep. His muscled chest. Plush lips. Strong nose. Feather-soft hair, the tip of his ear peeking through it. Her throat tightens at a sudden flare of protectiveness. He dwarfs her — in size, in strength, hell, in wealth, experience, fanbase — every measure of power she can think of. But her foolish heart won’t hear any of that. It’s telling her that right now, he couldn’t look more vulnerable. She’s not sure what could threaten him, much less what protection she could offer, but her head and heart are in agreement on one thing, at least — if it was hers to give, it would be his in an instant.

She slips out of bed, knowing that he needs more rest and that if she lingers, she won’t be able to keep her hands off him for long. He stirs when she makes her exit, but then he realizes just how early it is. He makes a valiant attempt to talk her back into bed, arguing that they should still consider themselves on California time. Eventually, though, he accepts that she’s too alert to be coaxed into going back to sleep, and he groans and pulls a pillow over his head, resigning her to her fate.

She heads to the cottage’s kitchen, suppressing an eye roll at the name. The ‘cottage’ had figured in many of Ben’s stories from when he was young, and while she hadn’t expected it to be a dump, she’d been wildly unprepared for the sprawling two-story shingle-clad retreat that had greeted them. 

On her way to the kitchen, she stumbles upon Leia. Nestled into an overstuffed couch, she's a picture of morning tranquility, a magazine open on her lap and a cup of coffee at her side. It’s as if Leia’s been waiting for her to arrive. She flashes Rey a bright smile and states, in that imperious way only Leia can get away with, that Rey simply must join her as soon as she’s helped herself to the pastries on offer.

“My favorite spot,” Leia offers with a confiding smile as Rey settles in next to her, the warmth of the tea in her hands a pleasant counterpoint to the breeze coming from the fan overhead. “Best view in the house.”

The house is perched at the edge of the ocean, and nearly every room offers views of the water. But from the couch they’re sharing, only the kitchen and dining room are visible — lovely, but they can’t quite compare to the shore. Rey tries to hide her confusion in her drink, just barely cool enough now to sip, but Leia must sense her bafflement because she chuckles.

“Six bedrooms, a game room, and a cabana,” Leia notes — so the ‘cottage’ has its own cottage; somehow that hadn’t come up on their abbreviated tour last night, ”and as long as I’m sitting right here, I know the moment anyone sets a toe outside any of ‘em.” She surveys the room, and for a moment she looks less like the retired rock star she is — a woman who caught the dream she was chasing and has the scrapes and scars to show for it — and more like a queen, reclining on her throne, looking out on the territory she’s conquered. Leia cocks her head, and Rey hears a faint sound from the end of the house opposite from where she left Ben sleeping. “Chewie’s awake,” Leia states with a satisfied smile.

“Chewie’s here?” she asks, shifting slightly on the couch. “I thought he had his own house?” Her voice makes it a question, but it isn’t one, not really. Ben had pointed out the houses on their drive, the only other buildings for miles: Luke’s (vacant, thankfully; apparently, he was making use of the cabin in Aspen this year), Ami’s (also vacant, and it had taken work to chase away the pout that reminder brought to his face), and Chewie’s. She’d assumed Chewie had returned to his own home after she and Ben had gone to bed last night.

“Oh, he does, but…it’s been so long since Ben’s been here with us, I’d never dream of sending Chewie away.” The weight of the lost years hangs heavy, but Leia seems to cast it off with conscious effort, her voice and eyes light when she continues. “You saw how it was last night — that stubborn old fool could hardly keep his head up, but he still refused to go to bed. Couldn’t bear to miss a second, and now he’s awake when he needs at least another hour of sleep,” she says, rolling her eyes, but the hint of a smile plays at her mouth. “But at least this way, he’ll lie in ‘til he hears Ben get up. If he was staying at the other house, he’d have dragged himself out of bed at dawn just to be sure he didn’t sleep through any of his time with Ben.”

Leia’s smile is soft; is she conscious that the same could be said of her, as she sits in wait in the only spot in the house that doesn’t offer a view of the ocean that they’ve supposedly come to enjoy?

“Besides,” Leia continues, “with Chewie here, there’s enough room for Bodhi, Jyn and Cass, and Boss and Cheery to stay at his place, and they’re always happier when they’re in the same house, even if they won’t admit it.” She punctuates her statement with a dramatic eye roll, and Rey can’t help but snicker in response.

“Oh!” Leia interrupts herself, hand flying to her chest as her eyes go wide. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it until just now — I put you in Ben’s old bedroom without thinking about it, but there’s plenty of space for you two to have separate rooms!”

Of course; Leia’s one of the few people who know it’s not a real relationship, and she has no reason to think that people who are only pretending to date would want to share a bed. A flush burns across Rey’s face, lighting-quick. How exactly is she supposed to tell _Leia _that this fake relationship now includes very real sex? Not that Rey expects her to be judgmental, but _god_, this is her boss — and Ben’s mother.

Leia continues, seemingly oblivious to the death grip Rey has on her teacup. “Or we can put you in one of the rooms with two beds if you’d prefer? I just want you to be comfortable, dear—” she trails off, and in the sudden silence, Leia’s every movement seems magnified — the tilt of her head, the crease of her brow, her searching gaze. 

The butterflies that are wreaking havoc in her stomach are one thing, but _this_ feeling, like she _is_ the butterfly, pinned in place, unable to escape Leia’s examination — well, it’s probably what she gets for using the words ‘Leia’ and ‘oblivious’ in the same sentence, even in the privacy of her own head. 

“Well, I suppose, er—” She swallows heavily, drawing her knees up to stall for time. Shockingly, a less-awkward way to address this topic does not come to her in the handful of seconds her stammering and fidgeting buys her. “Ben didn’t mention…?” She’s going to chew through her lip. What exactly did she expect Ben to mention to his mother? _That we’ve been fucking for months?_ She wants to laugh, or preferably, melt into the couch cushions. 

Fortunately, Leia rescues her.

“Oh honestly!” Leia scowls, but there’s a smile lurking beneath it. “Do you think I need you to explain to me that you two are really together?” she demands. The overstuffed couch is not at all suited to Leia’s offended dignity; her words would pack more of a punch if she was pacing, or at least had her hands on her hips — but it’s probably a good sign that she can’t be bothered to wrestle her way out of the cushions that threaten to swallow her. “I only said something because Ben’s such a restless sleeper.”

Rey relaxes back into the cushions, relieved she won’t have to find out whether Leia’s familiar with the phrase ‘friends with benefits’, and feels her mouth quirk up in a smile, waiting for a punchline that doesn’t come. Because surely Leia must be— “You’re joking, right?”

But Leia’s confusion mirrors her own. “No?”

“Ben is—” The awkwardness that she’d thought was dispelled comes roaring back_,_ but the only way out is through, so she soldiers on, despite the blush she feels heating her cheeks. “—he’s the soundest sleeper I know.” She is _not_ going to tell his mother that the only tried-and-true method to wake him is to attempt to slip out of his bed. Somehow the ridiculous man can sleep through multiple alarms, but let her attempt to tiptoe to the toilet and he’s up like a bomb’s gone off.

“My mistake, then,” Leia says with a small smile that suggests she heard at least some of what Rey tried not to say. “In that case, no reason to move either of you.”

Chewie chooses that moment to make his entrance, and he must catch the tail end of Leia’s words because he erupts in a rumbling, rolling laugh. It’s likely at Rey’s expense, but the sound is so warming, she can’t help but smile.

Leia’s had longer to build up a resistance; she shoots her bandmate a sharp glance over her shoulder. “Something to add, Charles?” she asks, brow arched.

“No, no,” he demurs, “couldn’t agree with you more. Perfect room for them,” he says, trying to master a straight face. He’s almost out of earshot when they hear him add, as if it’s just occurred to him, “very private, that room.” 

The pillow Leia lobs at Chewie misses by a mile, but Rey gets the sense that with this group, it’s the thought that counts.

“I do not know what is more insulting,” Leia says, her affected tone of umbrage belied by the warmth in her eyes, “Charles, thinking he can get away with those smart remarks of his, or you, thinking I didn’t notice how long ago you and Ben stopped having to _pretend_ that you’re in love.” 

In love? Is that what Leia thinks? Her stomach feels like lead. She needs to correct Leia’s mistake, but she can’t get the words past her throat. She grasps for her tea. 

“Did you really think I could be as successful as I am” — Leia’s brows are raised, teasing — ”I’m not going to say _how_ successful or you’d be impossible to negotiate with when it’s time to re-sign, but trust me when I say I’m very, _very_ successful.” She waves her hand, as if to bat away the distracting thought. “But did you really think I could be as successful as I am without noticing something _that_ big?”

Rey had thought nothing could be more uncomfortable than explaining to Leia that she and Ben are casually sleeping together. She hadn’t contemplated having to disabuse Leia of the notion that they’re in love. Her tea’s gone cold, but she swallows it down anyway. She shouldn’t have bothered — it still feels as though she’s trying to speak past a throat full of cotton. She needs to say something — at the very least, stop breathing like she’s just run a marathon — but she can’t seem to rein in her body’s reactions. 

It’s not terribly surprising that Ben rescues her, but it is impressive that he pulls it off without setting foot in the room, or even being aware that he’s done it. A door closes upstairs and Leia cocks her head, listening for her son. Now that he’s drawn their focus, the sounds of his movement are clear. 

“Ben’s up! I’d better put on a fresh pot of coffee, hmm?” Leia suggests with a smile.

Rey manages a nod and Leia heads into the kitchen to make good on her word. Left alone with her thoughts, the panic — that’s what it had been — subsides, and Rey reproaches herself for how easily she gave in to it. Leia probably misspoke or Rey misunderstood. The tension in her chest unwinds further because that’s it; a misunderstanding. She and Ben get along well, and that’s enough for their fans and the gossip magazines to draw their own conclusions — which means there’s no need for them to pretend to be in love. That’s all Leia meant. How silly of Rey, to have gotten worked up over that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My incredible beta wrote an incredible Amileia fic set in this universe (after Han's death, pre-_Off Script_). I adore it and think you will too; check out "The Edge" [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393240).


	48. tell us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note: **This chapter contains a brief reference to past abusive treatment of a child; to skip it, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume reading after the second set. A more detailed explanation is available in the End Notes.

**July 5, 2019**

Hours have passed, and it’s still hard to put the images out of her mind. Jyn, holding up the sheet music so Cassian can look over it as he tunes his guitar. The rest of them taking their places around the driftwood fire; Chewie perched on a box drum that he dwarfs, Leia producing a tambourine out of nowhere and Ben doing the same with a guitar, ducking his face to hide his sheepish smile. He hadn’t had it with him on the plane, so it must have been here, waiting for him, all these years. 

And then they’d all joined in, voices blending together with the practice of long habit, singing a song she’d written. Her words, and she’s the one who’d had the most trouble getting them out — at least until she’d caught Ben’s wink, and she’d felt the knot in her throat start to loosen.

They’d gone straight from “Colours” into “Ghost.” Ben and Leia hadn’t needed the music for either, and she’s not sure how to feel about that. Is it entitled if she’s not terribly surprised, or ridiculous to find it flattering? She is inarguably flattered — losing her shit, really — that Jyn and Cass hadn’t needed the music for “Ghost” either. It’s one thing for her song to be on the radio; it’s another for Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor to know it by heart.

They’d segued to a few of Ben’s songs, which she can honestly say she enjoyed almost as much, but before she got the chance to lose her head too completely over the possibility of backing up Leia and Jyn to their own music, it became clear that they were more interested in goofing off, playing almost anything else.

Now, hands and voices have started to tire. A cooler appears out of nowhere, and her dry throat is quickly soothed with absolutely shit beer — a beach tradition, she’s been solemnly assured, but Ben, a prince among men, surreptitiously helps her finish the obligatory drink so that she’s given access to the more palatable options. Baze heads back to the cottage to get something for Chirrut; she misses the details in the hum of overlapping conversations and Leia calling her name.

“Chewie was just reminding me; what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t take this golden opportunity to tell Ben’s girlfriend some embarrassing stories ‘bout him?” 

Rey’d never noticed it before, but alcohol seems to bring out Leia’s accent — a relic of her girlhood in Tennessee, according to Ben. Rey twists in her seat to face Leia fully, shushing Ben’s protests and urging his mother on, but Chewie comes to Ben’s rescue.

“Little Bird,” Chewie shakes his head at Leia, a grin playing at the edges of his mouth, “that is _not_ what I said and you know it.” 

Leia laughs, unrepentant. “Well, alright, I s’pose I can settle for some stories about you, then, Rey.” 

Rey sinks back into her chair, her toes digging into the sand beneath her. This endeavor sounded like more fun when she was promised stories about Ben. Now she’ll have to decide whether to make something up — paper over the uncomfortable reality with something less ugly — or ruin the mood. And it had been such a perfect night. 

“Don’t worry, my dear girl, I’ll go easy on you — I _like _you, remember!” Leia says with a warm smile, and Rey finds herself returning it, despite her reservations. “How about…” Chewie nudges Leia, trading her a fresh beer for the empty bottle in her hand and she throws him a fond glance before turning back to Rey. “How about school? Were you like me, growing up, total swot — that's the term right? — or more like Han, having to work for it?”

It’s — the question is all wrong. Deadbeat dad or drug-addicted mother, those are the parents Rey’s got to live up to. Not— not people like Leia and Han. As much as she’d like to find herself in them — and she can admit, in the privacy of her head, that she would — there’s no comparison.

Her gaze drifts to the fire.

School coming easily to her, like Leia? Tests had been easy enough, at least on the days when she’d been able to sneak enough sleep the night before, but everything else? Homework? Papers? Projects? So far from _easy_ that she hadn’t even attempted most of it. Bringing textbooks home, scraping up money to buy materials for projects, writing papers — it only gave Unkar things to use against her. 

*** 

It was better not to even try, wasn’t it? At least that saved her the indignity of being made to eat her words, literally. That night he’d caught her neglecting her work at the shop to write an essay — the heat of the bonfire isn’t nearly strong enough to chase away the memory of his cold, controlled fury. It’s absurd: she can’t even remember what the topic had been — what she wanted to be when she grew up, maybe, or someone she admired — but she’s never been able to shake the image of his satisfied smile from her head. The way he’d smirked as he’d made her shred her nearly finished essay into strips, chew it into a pulp, and choke it down. 

*** 

At least she hadn’t given Unkar her tears, though. That was something. 

A gust of wind sends smoke from the fire towards her. To her watering eyes, the fire loses its form, a heaving mass of orange and yellow, but then she blinks back the sting and it resolves into flames again.

She certainly can’t claim to be a hard worker like Han, either. Gave up when the going got tough, didn’t she? And even with tests, she didn’t make time to study. Hard to, when so much of her time was spent working for Unkar, earning her keep — but she could have tried harder, pushed herself more. She could have done a lot of things differently — but she hadn’t. 

Much as she might wish it, she’s not like either of them. But that’s not an answer she can give Leia, so she searches for something slightly more acceptable. Leia’s laugh breaks her trance; Rey tears her gaze away from the flames, hoping her embarrassed flush can be written off as heat from the fire. 

Leia looks slightly chagrined, offering up a smile. “Sorry, it’s just — you looked so much like Han just then, I could just about hear his voice. Sharp as a tack, but when it came to himself, he had less sense than God gives an ant.” Leia’s pursed lips are softened by the warmth in her eyes. “He always had some explanation for why his accomplishments didn’t count. If it came easily, well that didn’t count because it was easy.” Leia takes a sip of her beer and Rey takes advantage of the brief break in eye contact to shift in her camp chair, trying to find a comfortable position before Leia continues. “If something was difficult for him, well then, the fact that he overcame it didn’t matter because if he had real talent, it should’ve come more easily. Of course, people pointed out—”

“You, Little Bird,” Chewie interjects with a teasing smile.

“_People_,” Leia stubbornly reiterates, drawing the attention of everyone else around the fire, “pointed out that this was lose-lose, but Han was stubborn as a mule. Refused to see his own worth.” Leia shakes her head, her exasperated fondness clear, and Rey feels a lump in her throat. How beautiful and tragic it is, the way Leia talks about Han as if he’s just about to come down from the house and fold himself into the beach chair next to her. Rey can’t be the only one who looks at the empty chair and thinks of the man who should be with them. 

“Though he was always proud as punch of that little boy of his,” Leia says with a smile for Ben that Rey almost feels embarrassed to witness. “One year the school decided t’ save money by not sending out those ’My child’s an Honor Student at Whatever Elementary School’ bumper stickers. Y’can’t imagine the fuss Han kicked up.” 

Everyone who knew him is laughing — everyone except Ben. She glances around the fire, but no one else seems to have noticed the way he has folded in on himself, as if braced for a blow. It’s only because she’s seated between them that she hears him tell Leia, his voice thick, “C’mon, Mom. You don’t have to make up stuff like that.” 

Leia’s head swings toward him, and Rey can see his words hit her. One moment Leia’s spilling over with happy memories, lit up with them; the next, it’s like someone’s pulled the plug, as the light drains from Leia’s face. She mouths her son’s name, but if any sound comes out, Rey doesn’t hear it.

Chewie chimes in, oblivious to it all. “God, I remember that. Thought we’d never hear the end of it. D’ya remember his face when we” — he breaks down in tears of laughter, wiping at his eyes. The others try to get the story out of him, but every time it seems he might be able to collect himself, he breaks down again.

Leia takes pity on all of them. “Lord’s sakes, Chewie, it’s not even that funny.” Whether it’s the hour, the alcohol, or the atmosphere, Leia’s Southern twang keeps getting thicker, and Rey has to focus to understand her. “We finally had a sticker done up special for Han. Brought a Polaroid in of the other ’un so they could copy ’t ’xactly.” Leia sends a smile to her son, that same smile that seems like it should be shared only in front of family, though Rey supposes by Leia’s definition, everyone here counts as family — everyone except her.

“Thought he’d finally see how ridic’lus he’s being. ’Stead, he was—” Leia catches Chewie’s eye. He’s still shaking with silent laughter, and she starts to chuckle along with him. “He was happier ’n a pig in mud. Marched straight outside to slap it on the bus, ’long with the rest of ’em. Had the biggest, dopiest grin on his face the rest of the day.” She shakes her head at the memory, but it’s gentler, now.

“Wait a second,” Jyn pipes up from her perch on Cassian’s lap. “Was _that_ why he always insisted on tapping the back of the bus when y’all got off?” 

Leia nods, smiling.

“God, I can’t _believe_ I let him get away with making fun of me for kissing Cass before every show when he was touching his kid’s honor roll stickers for luck!" Cassian’s arms wrap around Jyn, and it looks like he moved just quickly enough to keep her from rocketing up. It’s not clear where she would have gone, but confined, she tosses her head with impotent annoyance.

“Little Sister” — Rey hadn’t noticed Baze rejoining the group, and she startles at the sound of his deep voice coming from the shadows — “I say this with all the love in my heart: you have literally never let anyone get away with _anything_ in your entire life.” The others laugh, but instead of taking offense, Jyn seems oddly soothed by Baze’s words. 

She feels a flash of recognition. When Ben had mentioned it — that Jyn’d asked him whether Rey had locked down someone to manage her tour — it had only been fear of exposing herself that had kept her from lashing out. But even once she’d understood that he’d been serious, she hadn’t been able to consider it, not really. How could she, when she was so overwhelmed by hero-worship that she could hardly look the woman in the eye? But if Jyn’s reaction to imagined insult is to spit and scratch? It could work.

But that’s something she’ll discuss with Jyn tomorrow; right now, she’s too tired for anything but sleep. But when she sees the way Ben’s looking at his mother — like he can’t quite believe what she’s said but can’t bear not to, either — Rey encourages him to stay put. If these are the type of ghost stories that are being told tonight, she doesn’t want him to miss a single one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** Rey remembers an incident in which her foster father found her working on homework instead of in his shop; he behaved abusively towards her and her homework was destroyed. To skip this content, stop reading at the first set of asterisks (***) and resume reading at the second set of asterisks.


	49. we got lost in it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally delivering on that angst tag — if you want to hit pause on this story and come back when it's complete, I understand completely. 
> 
> If you're sticking around, my goal is to update daily (or as close to that as possible) until we get through the angst. Some of the upcoming chapters are (very!) short, but I hope you won't mind, since the next chapter will never be far behind.
> 
> Either way, I want to thank you for sticking with me so far — it means a lot to me.

**July 14, 2019**

It happens as Rey is lying beneath him in his absurdly nice bed, still buzzing from her second orgasm of the night. She still hasn’t managed to convince Ben that he won’t crush her, so even though he just came so hard she’s fairly certain he isn’t currently capable of performing basic maths, he’s already pushing himself onto his forearms — just enough so that she can breathe, but not so much that she’s exposed to the air conditioning that he keeps at a ridiculously frigid temperature. She’s still surrounded by his warmth and strength, and with the endorphins running through her, Rey is so relaxed, it feels as though her body is made of heated honey. She’s considering whether to fall asleep exactly like this — let Future Rey worry about the potential UTI she’s risking — when he says it. 

His pupils are blown in the dim light of the room, and his voice is low, but clear, when he says, “God, Rey, I fucking love you.”

For a heartbeat, she takes Ben’s words out of their painfully obvious context. He just had what appeared to be, from her perspective, a phenomenal orgasm. He’s still _inside _her. She knows better. She _knows_ better. But, just for a moment, she forgets everything except the words that were said and who said them. It’s foolish, and Rey doesn’t suffer fools. She recovers so quickly, she’s almost sure Ben won’t notice.

She quirks her lips. “I love fucking you too, Ben. Now get up, you human tree,” she says, voice bright, wriggling beneath him. “I need to pee.”

She’d thought her execution was solid, but she must be tragically transparent because Ben is looking at her like she’s gutted him and he’s trying not to show it. So he knows that just for a moment, she’d thought he meant something more with those lust-addled words. And now he feels _sorry_ for her, his fake girlfriend. How pathetic must he think she is, to misinterpret something so obvious?

A hot flush of shame threatens to choke her and she shoves his shoulders, wanting to be anywhere but here. She doesn’t have the physical strength to make him move, but he responds, pulling out and rolling to lay beside her. She makes her escape quickly, slipping out of bed, walking to the toilet, and shutting the door behind her without glancing back. She doesn’t need to see if that unwanted, unwelcome pity is still written all over his face.

She hasn’t even been able to bring herself to check the schedule, but she knows his tour starts in a month or so, and then he’ll be half a world away. She needs to rip off that fucking bandage. But not tonight. She’ll give herself another night.


	50. we pretended it could last forever

**July 28, 2019**

The night Rey promised herself stretches into two, then three, and then without knowing how it happened, two weeks have passed since her heart had stuttered over Ben mixing up a couple of words.

When they’re apart, it keeps replaying in her head. How he’d gazed down at her, propped up on his elbows, his arms framing her face. The matter-of-fact way he’d said the words that have stripped her of any notion of peace. “God, Rey, I fucking love you.” She tries to rewrite her memory to reflect what she knows he meant to say — “I love fucking you” — but it refuses to cooperate.

When they’re together, though, it’s easy, so easy, to let things continue on as they’ve been. Which is the problem. Being with Ben has been so easy that she’s somehow let her guard slip, and — just as she knew it would — life is going to punish her for that mistake. She’s living on borrowed time, and every moment she enjoys with him now, she’s going to pay for ten times over when she’s left with nothing more than memories of Ben and the familiar ache of being left behind.

Even though she’s been burying her head in the sand, pretending that nothing can hurt her if she doesn’t see it approaching, news of his tour has been impossible to avoid entirely. She knows that it starts sometime in early August. She’s not sure of the exact date he’ll leave, but this is the last Sunday of July — it has to be coming soon.

Still, Rey can admit she shouldn’t have brought it up while they’re lying naked in his bed. But it’s all she can think about. It had taken all of Ben’s considerable talent to pull her out of her head long enough to bring her to a trembling orgasm. She feels dazed, shattered, but time passes and the feeling doesn’t fade. It’s like she’s forgotten how to put herself back together.

“Do you think we should do a breakup cover together?” she hears herself ask, the words seeming to come without her giving permission. “For one of my Thursday posts?” It’s like someone else is talking with her voice; the words keep spilling out, and yet she sounds so calm. “Or would that be that too ‘conscious uncoupling’, do you think?”

Ben doesn’t respond for a moment, and she wonders if perhaps she’s gotten lucky. Maybe he’s already asleep. Then, in a dangerous tone, he asks, “Rey, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Her pulse pounds and she grits her teeth so hard she is at risk of chipping them. She is suddenly, incandescently furious. Why does he have to make this harder? He _knows_ what she’s talking about. But she’s not going to give in to her emotions. 

She draws a slow breath and schools her face before turning to him. “Well, we have to break up at some point, and you’re about to go on tour, so it’s got to be soon, right?” 

If anyone could see through her weak smile, it would be him, but his stony glare suggests the only thing he’s thinking of is the counter-argument he’s currently composing in his head. She can’t believe he’s actually going to make her say this, but apparently it hasn’t occurred to him. 

“I mean, you’re not going to fly your fake girlfriend across the Atlantic for a hookup, and” — she laughs to dispel the knot in her throat — “it’s not as if I expect you to live like a monk while you’re away. And—” Her voice breaks. This, at least, is honest. She swallows and continues, voice soft. “And we don’t want to wreck everything by having one of us caught with someone else.”

“Right,” he agrees in a strangled tone, “I couldn’t stand to wreck this.” 

He thinks it’s awkward, hearing her talk about him hooking up with someone else? He can go _fuck_ himself. She turns her head to stare at the ceiling. He’s the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be. It’s not like they don’t both know what this is.

A moment passes, and she soldiers on. She is nothing if not a soldier.

“Right” — she did well to wait; her voice sounds perfectly normal — ”so I was wondering if you thought we should record something together, to make it clear there are no hard feelings.” Her heart is thundering but her lungs don’t want to fill. Ben is motionless. “Now that we’re talking about it, though, I think it would look like we’re trying too hard.”

If there’s one thing to salvage from this conversation, it’s that she’s realized this: she can’t have an audience when she records this cover. She doesn’t want any witnesses if it looks like she’s mourning the demise of a relationship that was never real.

The bed shifts and she turns her head to see him rolling onto his side, his back to her. 

His voice is tight when he answers. “Yeah, Rey, I think you should record our breakup song on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What is conscious uncoupling?**
> 
> A phrase popularized — but not invented — by Gwyneth Paltrow when she and Chris Martin [announced](https://jezebel.com/omg-gwyneth-paltrow-and-chris-martin-have-separated-1551502536) their divorce in 2014 to describe her and her ex-husband’s intention to [separate amicably](https://jezebel.com/heres-what-gwyneth-paltrow-meant-by-conscious-uncouplin-1833401858); Ms. Paltrow attributed her motivation to do so in large part to the desire to effectively co-parent their children.


	51. gone

**July 29, 2019**

Rey doesn’t realize it then, but that’s the end, or at least the beginning of it. 

Ben is gone before she wakes in the morning. She reaches for him and finds a note instead; black ink in his even, elegant hand, stark against the bone-white card. He has a perfectly reasonable excuse for his absence — an early morning meeting to go over tour details. So it’s for the best, really, that he isn’t around because what explanation could she give for why she methodically tears the stationary into shreds?

She caves and gets intel from Rose on his first show — London on August 7th, nine days from now. Rose slants her a strange look, but thankfully, doesn’t ask why Rey doesn’t already know this, isn’t asking Ben, or doesn’t just look it up herself — after all, it’s not as if Ben’s tour schedule isn’t readily available online. But Rey can’t bring herself to look, to see it laid out in black and white. It’s ridiculous; they’re not really together, and soon even the illusion will be over. But somehow knowing the precise details — how far away he’ll be, how long he’ll be gone — is too much. 

She’s survived this long by not borrowing trouble; she’s had more than enough to handle without looking for more. Ben’s departure date is one piece of information she really can’t avoid learning any longer. She doesn’t need to know more than that.

With just over a week ‘til then, though, there’s no more time for delays. She records the cover she needs. She records twice as many takes as usual, only to delete all except the first — they only went downhill from there. For the first time in months, she doesn’t ask Ben for his feedback on her music. Instead, she buries the file in a folder she won’t have to look at every time she opens her computer and pretends to forget about it. 

It’s harder to pretend not to notice that Ben suddenly doesn’t seem to have time for her. He’s preparing for his tour, of course, but he’s never been too busy before — not even in the height of the press frenzy when his album first dropped. He doesn’t shut her out completely; he still responds when she texts, but he never initiates conversations, makes flimsy excuses to end them, and claims to be too tired to do anything but fall asleep, alone, at the end of the day. She doesn’t call him, doesn’t press the issue. She doesn’t need to hear him confirm what she knows in her heart. He’s already moved on.


	52. last kiss

**August 5, 2019**

Horrifically, it comes to an end in a corridor outside Poe’s office. 

She’d come in for an afternoon strategy session with Poe; with her album coming out in a month, she’s been spending most of her waking hours in his corner of Resistance Records. They’ve just wrapped up — earlier than usual because they’re supposed to be on the rooftop for a send-off party Resistance is hosting for Ben. He’s flying out tonight. 

There’s not a chance she’ll survive a crowd of people consoling her about Ben’s impending departure, so Rey claims a headache. Whether or not Poe believes her, he doesn’t question it. She’s not even sure Ben would notice her absence at this point, but they’re friends, right? God, at the very least, they have to be friends. Hadn’t he said so, under a sky full of stars, that night in Vegas? His best friend, he’d said — but then, she’s always clinging to things long after others have let them go.

She sends him a message with the same headache excuse she gave Poe. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she adds that it will probably keep her in for the night, so if he wants to stop by, she’d be happy to see him before he leaves.

She’s texting Rose to let her know that she’s bailing on the party when she crashes into him. He must have had his phone out, too, since it clatters to the floor. 

She only realizes she’s been counting the time passing when the words in her head drown everything else out. _Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you when it’s only been eight days and you haven’t even left me yet?_

Her composure is hanging by a thread, but she grips that thread with an iron fist. She apologizes for bumping into him in a ragged voice. It’s hard to say whether he’s gracious enough not to comment on it or he didn’t even notice. He refuses her apology, offering one of his own; he was reading her text when he ran into her. She’s waiting for him to tell her he’ll come by tonight. Maybe he’ll even leave with her now, skip the party they both know he doesn’t want to attend. They could get dinner — it’s been weeks since they drove out of the city to see the stars — it’s only one more night, but they still have a little time to pretend that he’s not leaving—

“I guess running into you, literally, saved me a trip.” He offers a stilted half-smile, as if that will help her make sense of his words. He clears his throat and turns his attention to his mobile before he speaks. He carefully brushes off a device she’s seen him treat no better than discarded food wrappers before slipping it into his pocket — keeping his eyes on it the entire time, as if it might combust if he dared to meet her gaze. “I just meant, since you’re here, we can just say goodbye now.”

Oh. Of course.

“Yup!” Too cheerful. Not remotely believable.

“Well, goodbye then, Rey.” She can hear the strain in his voice; she’s making this even more awkward than it has to be. And then— oh _god,_ he’s hugging her, but it’s nothing at all like the way he used to hold her. It’s like she’s— _fuck,_ like she’s someone he worked with, like they’ve finished a project and it was intense but now it’s time to go their separate ways, but that’s what this was, wasn’t it? 

Isn’t she the perfect fool, for forgetting that? And worse yet, for fooling herself into thinking that she _hadn’t_ let herself forget it. For letting herself imagine that she’d kept him out of her heart.

She thinks his lips might touch her hair, but she’s probably imagining it. She’s imagined so much, hasn’t she?

Her heart’s never been whole, so why does it feel as if it’s shattering now? 

She recites the mantras that she’s been trying to sear into her brain over the past week, as if there’s some magic number of repetitions she has to hit to unlock their power: 

_You can’t lose something you never had. It wasn’t a real relationship, so this pain can’t be real either._

It hurts more than it helps, but it’s all she has.


	53. i feel you forget me

**August 6, 2019**

Ben lands in England on the morning of what would have been their seven month anniversary. He doesn’t text to let her know.


	54. never imagined we’d end like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play. 
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video.

**August 8, 2019**

Her only hope of getting useable video is to zoom in tight enough to crop out her bloodshot eyes. As it is, her room is a mess, her smile is strained, and her voice is thin. But each take only gets worse, so she slaps on a title screen, posts the cover, and mutes her notifications.

She doesn’t need to watch this bomb detonate. She’s already living in the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday (from Halsey’s cover of Bastille’s “Pompeii”):**
> 
> And the walls kept tumbling down  
Through the city where we loved  
The clouds rolled over the hills  
Spreading darkness from above
> 
> But if you close your eyes  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing’s changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?
> 
> If you prefer to play the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/MPrHYbAyOyg) (there’s no extended version — Halsey only uploaded a thirty-second clip of this cover — but it’s her that you see in the video. To see the uncropped original, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KMZh0ImGMRM)).


	55. life of the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **New Content:** I've started a separate collection of scenes in the _Off Script_ universe told from the perspective of characters other than Rey. There will only be a handful of chapters, but the first one (from Poe's POV) is up now. Chronologically, it's set between the events of the last chapter and this one — so **if you want an update from someone who's keeping tabs on Ben**, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967599/chapters/63126121).
> 
> **In-Story Audio:** This chapter contains a reference to a song that is playing; when it starts to play in the story, you’ll see an embedded audio track so that you can listen along with the characters (if you’ve downloaded this work or just prefer to listen in a separate window, there’s a link, along with the full lyrics, at the end of the chapter).
> 
> **Trigger Warning:** emotional detachment/disassociation. Please see the End Notes for more information

**August 26, 2019**

It’s the day of the VMAs, and Rey’s sitting in a chair that is probably meant to be comfortable. In a hotel suite that is certainly meant to be impressive. In a hotel whose name she probably ought to remember. In front of a very nice makeup artist whose name she _absolutely_ ought to remember (Katie, perhaps?). It seems almost oddly quiet without Bazine’s friend Anna chattering away as she paints and polishes Rey into something resembling presentable. But neither Bazine nor Anna had ever heard a secret they could keep; there’s not a chance they’d be allowed within 50 feet of Rey now. When she and— well, _before,_ if they’d wanted anything printed, they’d only needed to let slip in front of Baz or Anna. Now— well, that’s still true, but what story could she possibly sell?

Hopefully, the new girl (Caitlyn?) is just as quiet outside this room as she is within it. She generously excuses Rey’s complete failure to make conversation as nerves and puts on some music to break the silence. The small kindnesses are almost too much.

Your browser doesn’t support embedded audio; a link to the audio track is at the end of this chapter.

Rey only realizes she’s ruining hours of work with the tears she belatedly feels streaming down her face when the poor girl (Kaleigh?) starts fussing over her. To be fair, the song that’s playing seems designed to tear open her already-raw feelings. She should have expected it, though; everyone’s obsessed with Taylor Swift’s new album, and Kaydel (that’s her name, she’s almost certain of it) must be enjoying a trip down memory lane by wading into the artist’s back catalogue. But it’s left Rey trapped listening to her polar opposite — a woman who’s made a career out of putting her heart on display — sing about stumbling through a goodbye before he rushes off to catch a flight. Realizing she doesn’t know him at all. And even though she told herself not to get attached, she’s somehow wound up wanting nothing more than for him to come back, be here.

She’s wrapped her arms around herself, but it doesn’t seem to be any use keeping her together. She sucks her cheek between her teeth and bites down, hard, because she needs something to focus on that isn’t Taylor, singing about how if she’d known what she knows now, she never would have played it so nonchalant. That she doesn’t want to need him this way, doesn’t want to miss him like this. How she’s breaking down while he’s worlds away. Because she isn’t Taylor, who inexplicably finds a way to bear these feelings. But the sharp pain in her cheek isn’t enough. Her ship has been smashed to pieces and the waves are threatening to drown her, and she’s trying to distract herself with a splinter. She feels herself start to panic and there is a part of her that knows she needs to calm down, knows she needs to _breathe,_ but there is no Ben here to show her how to do it, _nice and easy, Rey, in and out, _no Ben to hold her safe, no Ben to pretend that she’s not broken.

She is all she has.

She is all she has _ever_ had. 

Every scrape, every illness, every setback, every heartbreak, she’s seen herself through it all. And she hadn’t survived by feeling sorry for herself. She just— put her feelings away. Got through it. She didn’t have any other choice, did she? And even if she did, there’s nothing to be gained from…from _dwelling_ in misery, like this. 

***

So she stops. 

Shuts those feelings off. 

Collects herself, dries her face, and apologizes to Kaydel. The story she gives for her tears — mumbled words about a made-up friend who’d loved the song and died too soon — is greeted with relief, rather than skepticism, and Rey counts her blessings again that it’s Kaydel helping her tonight; otherwise the story would be all over the internet before she made it to the red carpet. 

As she relaxes back into her chair so that Kaydel can repair the damage, she wonders why she allowed herself to undergo that kind of torture for so long. Why she let herself be brought so low. Already, it feels like something that happened to someone else — a foolish person. A weak person. She won’t make that mistake again. Her walls are up, and they’re not just for the world; Rey doesn’t plan to look behind them either.

The devastating grief that gripped her moments ago feels like someone else’s now, and the lyrics streaming through Kaydel’s portable speakers seem ludicrous, almost comical — like fate’s trying too hard to get a reaction out of her. Rose told her earlier that Ben extended his tour, so he actually is in London tonight, just like Taylor’s wailing about. At the time, she’d felt relieved — relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about whether she might see him tonight, relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about how she’d keep herself from falling apart if she did. Now that she’s stopped letting herself be so _weak_, none of that would be an issue, but it’s still better that he’s not going to be there. Because if both of them are going to emerge with reputations intact, it has to be an amicable split. No injured party, the two of them parting as good friends. Which means that since they haven’t seen each other in weeks (_Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you when it’s only been eight days and you haven’t even left me yet?_) she would have to smile when she saw him, probably say hello, and right now, it feels like climbing Everest would be less exhausting than performing even that modicum of emotional engagement.

The disengagement is better in all respects, really; she’s an ideal client for the rest of the afternoon, keeping perfectly still for hair and makeup, dutifully going where her agent directs. She says everything she’s supposed to say and nothing she’s not; but then, it’s so much easier to do what she’s supposed to when there’s nothing else in her head. It might be robotic, but no one knows her well enough to spot the difference. When she’s asked what she thought of a movie, if she’d like another drink, or whether she’s going to play a show in their favorite city, she knows what to say. Because normal people care about these things. They have opinions and desires and hopes that aren’t a drumbeat of _survive survive survive._ So she parrots their opinions and desires and hopes back to them and they thank her for it. She’s charming, she’s clever, she’s delightful, they say. She’s impenetrable, she’s unshakeable, she’s unbreakable, she tells herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning:** This chapter includes what might be characterized as emotional detachment/a mild episode of disassociation. No one in-story experiences this as distressing, but if that is a strong trigger for you, you might want to stop at the asterisks (***). If an experience of emotional overwhelm that triggers an episode of (mild) disassociation is a trigger, you’ll want to skip this chapter. I will summarize the content of this chapter in the Beginning Notes of the next chapter for anyone who chooses to skip this one.
> 
> The song Rey references (and which is embedded above) is Taylor Swift’s “Come Back…Be Here.” To listen in a separate window, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofOwuV1_nZA); to view the lyrics, click [here](https://genius.com/Taylor-swift-come-back-be-here-lyrics).


	56. i don’t know how to be

**August 29, 2019**

Her tour dates are released. It’s mostly U.S. shows, with a few stops in Canada and one in Mexico City right before Christmas. Then it’ll be a couple of weeks in Australia after the holidays, and a month-long break that her tour manager insisted on — at least, Jyn was ready to argue the point, if anyone cared enough to fight over it. Rey certainly doesn’t. After the break, she’ll do a month in Europe. 

There had been so much back and forth over which cities would be on the circuit, what the artwork and merch would look like, how they’d handle the rollout. Now, she can hardly summon the energy to do the things she must — each mundane, minuscule task on her list sits on her chest, their heavy weight urging her to just lay down, shut her eyes, shut out the world. She can’t remember what it was like to have energy to waste on things that don’t matter.

She asks Poe to add a tag before they post the tour info from her social media accounts — #Thirty(Plus)StopsThursday, so she doesn’t have to come up with a cover for today — and goes back to sleep.


	57. flashbacks waking me up, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We _finally_ catch up to where things left off all the way back in Chapter 1 — thank you so much for sticking with me!

**September 5, 2019**

She gets her cue, and even though she shouldn’t be, she’s startled when she walks into a wall of heat. The stage lights weren’t this hot during dress, but they’ve been on for hours, and there are at least a hundred more bodies packed in the space now. She has the wild thought that perhaps James Corden is wearing shorts underneath his desk and bizarrely, she feels a brief, rare moment of hope. Because that kind of thought — the panicked grasping of a prey animal, desperate to find something, *_anything*,_ to focus on, other than the inescapable terror bearing down on her — is often the point of no return. If she gets there, odds are good that she won’t have to endure whatever brought her to that point for much longer. Her walls will come down, and she can let go. Float away, to a place where nothing can hurt her. She just has to wait. 

Any second now.

But of course, she’s not that lucky. 

She doesn’t feel her spine turn to iron. Doesn’t feel that heavy door slide shut in her brain. Doesn’t feel everything that has weighed her down drift away, better than any high that money can buy. Instead, her thoughts continue racing, unhelpfully reminding her how hot it is. That her jacket is too tight around her arms. That somehow the heels that pinch her toes mercilessly are at risk of slipping off if she keeps sweating like this. That everyone is clapping now, but it’s only a matter of time before they see right through her.

She doesn’t remember exchanging hugs with James — he is, of course, wearing trousers, her useless brain offers up — nor does she remember the pleasantries they exchange, but based on his reactions, she must not be acting too oddly. 

The walls that have been shielding her since the VMAs are nowhere to be found. Sometimes they slam down on their own; sometimes she can will them into place. Eventually, reluctantly, she accepts that if they come down tonight, it’s not going to be because she forces them. She gives her interviewer the attention he should have had from the outset. 

Perhaps James notices this because he moves on from softball questions.

“Rey, you’ve got an incredibly strong social media following for a relatively new artist. Can you explain that?”

It’s open-ended enough that she doesn’t have to bring up Ben, but Poe’s team recommended she take the first opportunity she had to do so. Something about controlling the narrative, which she thinks is utter nonsense — _nothing_ about this situation is under her control. But then, she is lost at sea, and while their advice might be barely more than a scrap of driftwood, in the absence of any better options, she’ll keep a death grip on it. 

She tells James about being discovered on YouTube, expresses appreciation for her followers — wishing now that she’d asked the PR people whether there was a way to refer to them that didn’t sound so cult-like — and then makes the pivot she’s sure the Resistance PR team is waiting for. 

“Of course, I think a fair number of people started following me when Ben and I were dating — although I hope the fact that they’re still followers means that they’re interested in what I have to say.” There, she’s done it.

Will the audience back home be able to see James’ eyes light up at the mention of Ben’s name? “The Ben you’re referring to being Ben Organa Solo, formerly with the Knights of Ren.” 

Of course, James wouldn’t let ‘when Ben and I were dating’ be it. She can’t really blame him for that, though; it’s his job to get her to talk.

“Yup, that Ben!” she says, with what she would like to claim is a cheerful laugh — but fuck it, she just needs to survive the next five minutes; if that means she giggles on the goddamn _Late Late Show with James Corden_, then so be it. She’s doing the best she can.

“I noticed you used the past tense there — I know you Tweeted about this last month, but certainly some of your supporters hoped it was only a temporary break while he was touring. From the way you’re talking, though, it sounds like this was a permanent split. Am I right?”

“Yes, that’s right.” 

It doesn’t feel right at all, though, it feels entirely wrong, which is probably why she doesn’t leave it there. 

“I know I’m meant to say something bland like, ‘We care about each other very much, but we realized that we work better as friends than as a couple,’ so that you’ll know to move on to the next question, and my PR people will be happy, but—” She gives a little laugh.

“But?” and James is leaning over the desk towards her, his posture reflecting the audience’s anticipation for what she’ll say next.

“But…I’ve never been good at staying on script. Ben—” She swallows down the lump in her throat. She can’t talk about him yet, maybe not ever. She can offer a small smile and this, though. “Well, whoever he ends up with is the luckiest person.” She can smile at that because it’s true — but in the same way that lightning precedes thunder, tonight Rey’s words leave her mouth a moment before she truly understands what she’s saying. Then, the pain of it hits her; she will have to watch that happen. In magazines and newspapers and on the internet and television, she will watch as Ben falls in love with someone else. Decides to spend his life with them. Grows old with them. The thought is so gutting that when she brushes her hand over her chest, she expects it to come away saturated with her blood. But it’s not a physical wound, so Rey must continue with this farce of an interview. 

She’d meant to say that Ben deserves happiness. That would have been fine. It would even have been alright to say that he is one of the best people she knows. Those are the sort of things a friend might say. But she’s said far more than that, and there’s no taking it back. If Ben ever sees this, he will hear the rawness in her voice, and worse still, he’ll know what she was supposed to say and didn’t. He’ll know how much deeper it went for her. How broken she is, how sad and small, to grieve the loss of something she never had.

Given how gently James’ response comes, he’s certainly sensed the sincerity of her feelings.

“I’m sure it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that some people expected your relationship to result in a proposal rather than a breakup, Rey.”

She hopes the sharp breath that escapes her without conscious thought doesn’t come across as a scoff. She would hate for Ben to think she was laughing at the idea of ending up with him. She overcorrects, of course; once again, she says more than she should.

“Something that lasts, love that means you stay — that’s not for me,” she says with a slight shake of her head before continuing softly. “If there was ever a time I believed in it…well, it’s so long ago I don’t remember it now.”

Teasing, now, James asks, “So is that your message for Ben? It’s not you, it’s me?”

Rey knows he’s trying to lighten the tension, but she can’t take the out he’s offering. She won’t. She doubts Ben will ever see this — he’s always hated promotional things like this — but even in his absence, he deserves better.

“No,” she says softly, looking down, collecting herself, and then turning to look directly into the camera center stage. “To Ben, I’d just say this: I’m sorry I went off script.” 

She offers a weak smile to the camera. How on earth is she supposed to talk about anything else now?

Fortunately, James is a goddamn professional. 

“Speaking of scripts,” he offers brightly, “I’ve been hearing rumors that we might be seeing you on our television screens again soon. Can you tell us anything about that?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

She can’t, but bless him. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny anything of the sort,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“Rey! I thought we were friends!” but he’s clearly teasing — she’s not sure how he’s heard that she’s been asked to perform at the AMAs, but he must know there’s not a chance she’s going to break her NDA.

“Of course we’re friends!” She reaches across the desk to give his forearm a friendly squeeze. Blatant pandering, but it will look good on camera. “Especially since you just gave me a chance to redeem myself with my PR team by following their directions. I’m going to do it again because I really need these brownie points! ‘I can neither confirm nor deny anything of the sort.’” 

They’re both laughing now.

“Alright, alright. You _can_ confirm that your debut album, _Badlands_, is being released next week” – he flips up a blown-up version of her album artwork that’s been lying on his desk – “and that you’ll be going on tour at the end of the month, though, right?”

“That, I can confirm.” Her smile is genuine now.

“Hmmm. I suppose we can stay friends then. If — and this is a big if — you’ll play for us after the break,” he says, pretending to fight a smile.

“I can do that, too,” and she’s still smiling because it’s such a relief to move on to the part of the performance she’s actually prepared for. 

Her wall doesn’t rescue her that night, but the scope of the mess she’s made — for herself and for Ben — is already hitting her, and worrying over the PR implications is enough of a distraction to get her through her performance. Finn tells her she sounded good, and that’s enough. She already knows she’ll never be able to watch it herself.


	58. searching for signs

**September 12, 2019**

Rey knows she too often leaps before she looks, but in this case, her lack of experience is to blame, not her judgment. Before the album was released, she’d felt so confident that she’d escape the scrutiny over whether her lyrics were inspired by her relationship with Ben. After all, back in February, she’d sent that tweet about how she hadn’t written in weeks and how she was relieved to finally be writing the last song for this album. The lyrics she’d tweeted that day were clearly recognizable in “Drive”. A particularly aggressive interviewer had pressed Ben about how their relationship started, and he’d claimed they started a relationship right after meeting at Leia’s in January, which was true, in a fashion. Like all the best lies are.

So Rey felt confident that everyone would assume only one song on the album was written during their relationship. While she can’t hear “Drive”, much less sing it, without feeling a wrenching sensation in her chest, it’s only because of what those car rides with Ben had come to mean to her. She keeps telling herself she’ll be able to get back where she was when she wrote the song, when it was just about the physical craving she felt for him. Back before it felt like being in that car with Ben by her side was closer to home than she’d ever expected to get. Maybe if she tells herself that lie often enough, she’ll start to believe it.

She hadn’t known back in February that she’d end up writing “Is There Somewhere” after their weekend together in New York, but that lack of foresight had been her salvation, or so she thought. She’d never collaborated with someone before, which is probably why she’d overlooked something that would have been obvious to someone more established. The trap has been lying in wait for nearly six months, and it’s sprung the day her album drops.

After her interview with Corden, Rey had been prepared to eat crow, but Poe hadn’t let her get out a word of the apology she’d been obsessing over. He’d insisted it was totally unnecessary, that perhaps she’d gone in a different direction than they’d planned, but if anything, she’d improved their story. She can admit he’s right, even as the knife twists in her gut. Suggesting they broke up because she’s too damaged to love Ben the way he deserves makes the story far more tragic — and compelling — than if they just split because their schedules weren’t compatible. Of course, there are only a handful of people who know her private tragedy — she wasn’t supposed to love Ben at all. And she’s not sure if anyone’s guessed how much of a monster she truly is — because even though she’s too damaged to love Ben the way he deserves, she still wants nothing more than to track him down and demand that he love her anyway.

It’s possible Poe’s one of the few who might have figured it out. He hadn’t just watched the interview, after all; he’d tracked every development of her relationship with Ben. Fortunately, Poe isn’t one to push, and she desperately needs a distraction from speculation over her relationship and its demise. Poe will talk sales figures with her.

That’s what this was all for, wasn’t it? 

Naturally, she enters his office to find his whole team watching a split screen projection of the Billboard homepage and her Twitter feed — the same content that she’d been trying to escape. 

How is she going to perform “Is There Somewhere” now that people know she wrote it while she was dating Ben? She tries to picture it, but the only image that comes to mind is from a nature documentary. A wounded gazelle trying to outrun a pack of hyenas — attempting to hide its limp, refusing to look back, never slowing down. 

It wasn’t enough to save the gazelle. 

Why would the outcome be any different for her?

The commenters don’t stop there, of course. They pick through every word of her lyrics, eager to find evidence of her failings, blithely concluding that with someone with so much obvious emotional baggage, the relationship was destined to fail. They’re right, of course, but if she doesn’t tear her eyes from these 280-character doses of casual cruelty, she may not survive the hour, much less her tour.

Poe clears his people out and gives her a weak smile. Ah, so she hasn’t been fooling him either. Well, that makes this easier.

Her back is turned to the projection, but she gestures over her shoulder and asks, “Did it help, at least? The whole—” but she can’t call it a fake relationship, what she had with Ben, even though that’s all it was for him. But Poe knows what she means.

“It did, Reybie. It really, really did.” Poe leans forward, bobbing his head to punctuate his statement. He’s so earnest it hurts, but his voice carries only a fraction of the enthusiasm she’d expect, and for Poe to tone it down — well, he must really be worried about her. “Your pre-sales were through the roof. Way higher than we would have expected for a similarly positioned artist, and—”

That’s something, at least. The flicker of interest is faint, but this is the most engaged she’s felt in weeks, so she interrupts to ask, “Were the pre-sales really that strong?”

He looks confused, or maybe concerned. “Yeah, Rey. We’ve talked about this, like, a lot in the last couple of weeks.” He offers her a weak smile that hurts more than it helps, but she appreciates the gesture. “I guess you were pretty distracted though, huh?” She fists her hands, needing the grounding pain of her nails digging into her palms, but before she can even attempt an answer, Poe clears his throat, coming to her rescue, yet again. “I mean, waiting for the album to drop and then the tour coming up, you’ve had a lot on your mind.” 

She’s forgotten what a genuinely good guy he is, always trying to put others at ease. Does he feel guilty about his role in all this? Because he shouldn’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault but her’s, but she doesn’t have the emotional reserves to reassure him of that, so she just asks more questions about sales. It seems to help both of them feel a little steadier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the songs mentioned in this chapter are from Halsey's debut album, _[Badlands](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_z2rRJd3xt4pdxj-Poa_lChQXY3yOk05)_.


	59. united

**September 13, 2019**

Rey had been grateful to Poe the day of her album release; the next day, she’s not sure how she’ll ever repay him.

Poe’s team has always been great about curating her social media accounts to shield her from the worst of the worst. They’d been delighted with her “I don’t read DMs” policy — apparently, those are such a nightmare to monitor that taking one account from their queue was enough to make her an instant favorite — and the team keeps a tight lock on everything that crosses her dash.

Since January, her feed has been pretty Reylo-heavy, but ever since their ‘break-up’, it’s been non-stop. Fans track their every move, analyzing everything — from his set lists to the bracelet she wears on a morning show appearance — for hidden messages. It’s hard to say what cuts deeper: the posts that she knows are right, that say Ben isn’t thinking about her any more, or the posts that claim to have found some sign that he cares about her. Either way, the fans’ fixation doesn’t help hers. 

In the weeks since Ben le— since that moment outside Poe’s office (_Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you when it’s only been eight days and you haven’t even left me yet?_), she’s often wondered whether Poe could see through her, whether he could tell what a fool she’s been. But if he hadn’t realized the truth before, their conversation yesterday had clearly resolved his doubts — because overnight, all mention of Ben and their relationship disappears from her Twitter feed. 

Thanking Poe would require admitting to him how very much she needs a break from it all, and she can’t contemplate bringing herself to do that. Instead, she vows to make Poe’s job as easy as possible. She’s going to throw herself into promoting the album — and if that means she collapses into bed each night too exhausted to think, well, that’s just a happy coincidence.


	60. i can’t pretend it’s okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter depicts a panic attack. If you prefer not to read this but are comfortable with depictions of the aftermath of a panic attack, stop reading once you get to the first set of asterisks and resume after the second set of asterisks. The chapter also depicts a character resisting encouragement (which becomes insistence) that the character go to therapy. (Therapy is great!)

**September 16, 2019 **

When Rey’s called into Leia’s office on Monday, she’s bracing herself for some sort of celebration. She’d put on a happy face for her album release party — part of her ‘make Poe’s life easy’ campaign — but her opening week sales figures are on track to be among the top two or three for solo debuts in 2019, so they’ll probably expect her to be happy about that, too. It doesn’t feel fair, that she has to pretend to be happy for them, too, when she’s already pretending for the public — but when has life been fair?

When she enters Leia’s office, her attention is drawn, as it always is, to Leia’s desk, a minimalist piece made of some kind of white stone — marble, maybe? — that, of all things, makes her think of rushing water. A force that doesn’t seem strong until you try to go against it. 

Luke’s presence in one of the two chairs opposite Leia supports Rey’s hypothesis that they’re here to talk sales, but as soon as she’s seated, Leia begins the conversation and Rey realizes her assumptions were very wrong.

“Rey, I realize this is delicate because of my” — Leia glances at Luke and corrects herself — “_our_ relationship with Ben, but we’re here today because of our relationship with _you_, alright?”

The sinking feeling in her stomach says that this is the furthest thing from alright, but Leia clearly expects a response, so Rey nods. 

Perhaps it is not convincing, because Leia’s face tightens.

“Frankly, Rey, we’re concerned. You know me; I don’t pussyfoot around.” Leia’s brows draw closer. “It’s been a month and a half since you announced your breakup, and you’re— Rey, you’re a mess. If I could have, I would have scrapped that release party; we’re lucky that most of the people you talked to hadn’t met you before, and that was a good day! I refuse to send you out on tour when you’re like this — for your sake and for the label’s.” She sighs. “I care about you, Rey, on a personal level. And on a professional level, I need you to get your shit together.”

Oh god. Her not-ex-boyfriend’s mother is lecturing her — kindly, but still — about falling apart after their fake break-up. This is…this is not okay.

***

“Rey. Rey!” Luke’s voice is sharp. “Breathe.” She _can’t._ “Breathe with me, Rey. In and out.”

Rey saw a movie, once, with a horse. She can’t remember what it was about, but something startled the horse and it panicked. Started rearing and kicking out, eyes rolling. That’s how she feels now. Her eyes are darting around the room and all she wants to do is strike out at Luke, push him away, and get out, get out, get _out,_ but she’s frozen. 

Leia breaks in. “Rey, I want you to find five red things in this room. Can you do that for me? Find five red things, and then I’m going to ask you to tell me what you’ve found.”

She— maybe she can do this. There’s Leia’s blouse, that’s easy. And the art behind her. Some of the drink cans on Leia’s sideboard have red labels. Her breathing slows as she focuses on this, but she has two more things to find. It’s like her muscles have been locked in place, but she manages to turn her head enough to catch sight of the albums framed on the wall to her left. One of them is maroon — does that count? There’s some red in her shoes, and Luke’s are red, too, actually, so that’s five things even if the album doesn’t count. She lists off the items without waiting for Leia to prompt her.

***

She’s not sure what just happened, but Leia and Luke are acting as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Luke fetches her a glass of water, and Leia asks if she’d like to wash her face. It’s a transparent excuse that Rey declines. She’s not certain she could stand right now, and she doesn’t want to turn her back on Leia and Luke. They’re not a threat, she _knows_ that, but there’s too much adrenaline coursing through her body to feel safe anyway. She presses herself into her chair. No one has snuck up on her in years, but the shield of the high-backed chair is still a comfort, and right now, she’ll take whatever she can get.

“I’m very sorry to have triggered that, Rey,” Leia continues gently. “I hope you know I would never do so intentionally, but it does prove my point.”

“Leia” — from the corner of her eye, she sees Luke pinch the bridge of his nose — “you haven’t actually _stated_ your point.”

“Oh. Right.” If Leia is chastened, it lasts only a moment. Not long enough for Rey’s racing heart to settle. Not long enough for her to find the courage to meet Leia’s eyes. “The point, Rey, is that as people who care about you, we’re asking you to talk to someone. Get some help dealing with the stress you’re under.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” There’s a red pen on Leia’s desk; she’d missed that before. “I’ll— I’ll think about that.” She’ll think about how she’s definitely not doing that. 

Luke’s sing-song reply is clearly intended for his sister. “Told you so.”

She doesn’t have to look up to catch Leia’s weighty sigh. “Right. Rey, I’m not a doctor, but I learned that five colors thing from someone I care very deeply for, and if it helped you for the same reasons it helps her, I’d venture that you just had a full blown panic attack, maybe even dissociated.” Rey does look up at this, but before she can even begin to speak, Leia’s sharp glance silences her. “I _had_ hoped you’d agree to counseling because people who care about you asked you to, but if that’s not going to happen, then you’re going to go because the people who sign your paychecks are requiring it,” Leia says, eyes narrowed.

Leia must be able to sense the coming fight because she presses on.

“You can ask Phasma if you’d like, or you can waste your money on your own lawyer, but it’s clear as day in your contract.” Leia gives a curt nod to a stack of papers on the desk — her contract, Rey assumes. “The label can impose reasonable conditions to ensure your physical and mental well-being — and believe me, Rey,” Leia says warningly, “any qualified medical professional would consider talk therapy to be a reasonable condition for someone in your position.”

The steel seems to slip from Leia’s face, leaving exhaustion in its wake. She _has_ been worrying over Rey, and somehow that makes it all worse. 

“Rey, I meant what I said. I care about you.” Rey can’t take Leia’s look of pained sympathy; her gaze slips to her knees. After a moment, Leia continues. “You can’t go on like this. The woman we’ve set you up with, Amilyn Holdo — there’s no one I trust more. You’ll love her.”

Luke clears his throat.

Leia sighs. “Alright, you’ll probably hate her at first. But then you’ll love her. Your first appointment is in an hour, alright?”

She doesn’t have a choice, does she? But then, it never feels like she does. She gives a bare nod.

“Thank you, Rey.” The worst of it is that Leia sounds truly grateful. “I’ll have a driver waiting outside to take you to Ami’s.”

She looks up sharply. “Ami?” Leia _must _be kidding. “As in _Aunt_ Ami?” Rey learned the cruel truths of the world when most children were learning addition. She’s not accustomed to receiving looks like the one Leia’s giving her now, as if it’s fallen to her to reveal to Rey that Santa Clause isn’t real.

“I’m so sorry, but there’s no one else we can trust with” — Leia slants Luke a glance — ”with everything.” Does that mean— has she kept the truth of Ben and Rey’s relationship from her brother this whole time? Rey will have to find a way to tell— except, no. It would mean so much to Ben that his mother kept this secret from Luke — kept _any _secret of his from Luke — but if Ben ever learns this news, he won’t hear it from Rey. “Ordinarily, Ami wouldn’t see—” Leia trails off awkwardly, and it’s almost enough to make Rey laugh. Nothing unsettles Leia. _Nothing. _Except, apparently, how much of a disaster Rey and her pathetic feelings have created. Leia tries again. “I talked to Ami and she agreed that it’s an exceptional circumstance. Rey,” Leia prompts, pausing until Rey meets her eyes, her gaze insistent. “Ami understands. She’s safe.”

No one understands. Nothing is safe. But Leia doesn’t want to hear that. So Rey murmurs an agreement and escapes from the office as quickly as possible. The minutes until her appointment stretch and slip — waiting for the car, waiting in traffic, waiting in Ami— Dr. Holdo’s reception room. It is the longest and shortest hour of her life. Then, a soft-spoken woman with lavender hair opens the door and calls her in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Would Ami actually treat her godson’s ex-girlfriend?**
> 
> Probably not! The American Psychological Association’s Code of Ethics directs psychologists not to take on a professional role when personal relationships (or other interests or relationships) could reasonably be expected to impair their objectivity, competence, or effectiveness in performing their functions as psychologists. Arguably, Ami’s close, personal relationship with Ben and Leia could reasonably be expected to impair her objectivity when acting in a professional role with Rey — her relationship with Ben coloring her view of Rey and Ben’s relationship and her relationship with Leia coloring her treatment plan (since Leia has a financial stake in Rey’s career). However, it would be hard for anyone to properly treat Rey if she doesn’t feel safe being honest with them about her relationship with Ben, so Ami _might_ determine that considering all factors, the potential conflicts of interest are outweighed by the need for Rey to get care from someone she can be honest with; she would certainly want to put safeguards in place, like having another psychologist review her treatment plan (after anonymizing her notes). Even though psychologists are bound by patient privacy protections like other doctors, there are (rare!) instances where details about celebrities’ therapy sessions are leaked.
> 
> **Is that “five things” real?**
> 
> Yup — it’s one form of a technique called grounding, and it’s especially useful for folks who are dealing with anxiety (and PTSD). 
> 
> **Can we circle back to why Leia knows about it?**
> 
> [We sure can](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969630).


	61. i break down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note: **This chapter depicts a therapy session. A more detailed warning is available in the End Notes.
> 
> Special thanks to [spicytofuuuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicytofuuuu/pseuds/spicytofuuuu) for her feedback on this chapter; I'm so grateful!

**October 1, 2019**

“Sorry I’m so sweaty,” Rey says, wiping her palms against her yoga pants as she sits on the edge of Dr. Holdo’s couch.

“Like I said last time, and every time before: you don’t need to apologize. I understand,” Dr. Holdo says with a kind smile. She probably does understand — taking a yoga class in the same building as Dr. H’s practice gives Rey a reason to be there that the paparazzi aren’t frothing over — and Dr. H has been part of Leia’s circle long enough to sympathize with the need for subterfuge.

But whether it’s needed or not, the apology is the easiest part of each session. Rey shifts, sitting back slightly on the too-comfortable couch, letting her gaze slide over a portrait of calla lilies on a purple background, vivid against the white walls. She wastes some time scanning the titles of the books on the open shelves next to Dr. H’s maple desk, but she’s learned that the doctor is happy to wait her out, and it’s not long before she gives in. “Where should we start?”

When she hears the smile in Dr. H’s voice, it’s a little like receiving back an exam she’d expected to fail, only to see she’d received full marks. Her tired muscles unwind a fraction. 

“Well, last time we met, we were starting to talk about isolating yourself.”

Her back goes rigid. “I don’t want to”— her exhale leaves in a burst of air — “I’m not going to talk about Ben if you’re not going to _help_.” Session after session after session — _weeks_ of this — and if anything, she feels more, not less. But Holdo doesn’t seem to see that as a problem.

“We don’t have to talk about him.” Dr. Holdo replies in a steady voice. “Can you tell me what’s bringing up tears right now?”

“I’m not—” But she is crying. She fumbles for one the many boxes of tissues Holdo keeps next to the couch and swipes at her face. “I don’t _want_ to feel this way.”

“What way?” Holdo prods.

“Sad!” She throws an angry glance at Holdo before returning her watery gaze to her knees. The tissue twists in her hands. “These— these _sessions_” — she says it like the dirty word it is — “are supposed to make things better. But they’re not.” She grabs at another tissue. “They’re _not_,” she repeats, curling in on herself.

“Rey” — Holdo’s voice tugs at her, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the carpet at her feet — “our goal isn’t for you not to feel sad. It’s for you to process your feelings at a pace that’s manageable. I wish there was a shortcut or a trick I could teach you, but this is one of those things where the only way out is through. But Rey” — Dr. H waits for Rey to meet her gentle gaze — “the good news is that you’re a strong person. I know you can do this. And—”

“But I _can’t_,” she interrupts, the tears starting to fall thick and fast again. “I can’t, it’s too big. If I let myself feel some of it—” She chokes back a sob, looking away. Dr. H waits patiently. She sniffles. “It’ll drown me, okay? _Please._” It’s a whisper, and she doesn’t know exactly what she’s asking Dr. H for, but right now, she’d sell her soul to get it.

Dr. H leans forward. “I know it’s hard to trust yourself with your feelings, but could you try trusting me?”

God, she needs someone to trust. She closes her eyes. Nods.

Dr. H’s voice is almost fierce. “I _promise_ that your sadness is not an endless ocean.” She pauses. “There will be points when the water gets high. You might lose your footing. You might wonder if you’ll ever get sight of the shore. You’ll almost certainly get tired of swimming.” Rey glances up and sees a small smile on Dr. H’s face. “But I happen to have a boat, and I promise to stay with you. We’ll get to the other side. And Rey, life is so much better on the other side.”

Rey nods again, and this time, she doesn’t try to swallow back the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter focuses on a therapy session. The main focus of the session is Rey’s belief that if she allows herself to acknowledge her emotions, they will overwhelm her. Her therapist pushes back on this belief, and the chapter ends on a hopeful note. If you have the slightest inkling that this will be triggering, it might help to know that I had to be talked into keeping this chapter; you won’t be missing any critical content if the only part of it you read is this summary.


	62. if i had known what i know now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** This chapter contains a brief reference to contemplated (but not actual) drug use and a brief episode of dissociation, as well as a lot (a lot!) of self-flagellation by Rey over how she’s handled the repercussions of her traumatic childhood. It probably doesn’t need to be said, but just in case — those are the views of the character, not the author; people don’t generally _choose_ to heal slowly (or messily). For the sake of anyone who might identify with Rey, if you choose to comment, I hope that you’ll extend her generosity.

** October 6, 2019 **

By the time the AMAs roll around, her promo appearances have numbed her to performing “Is There Somewhere” in front of strangers, but there’s not a chance Rey could sing it to an audience that includes Ben Solo. She’s not sure, though, that it will be any easier to sing someone else’s songs when she’ll be pleading to be taken as she is, admitting that there’s nowhere to hide, and confessing ‘I want to run to you’. 

Of course, she never thought about turning the opportunity down. Being asked to sing a tribute to Whitney Houston is an incredible honor, even if it likely came to her at least in part because more established artists are too cautious to take the risk of falling short in paying tribute to an icon. Now, though, she’s trapped and contemplating self-medicating — and if she’s going to resort to that, is it something she should practice, performing high? — when she gets the detailed show schedule. Perhaps fate’s finally have gotten tired of fucking her over because Ben’s scheduled to come on right after her. There’s no way he’ll be in the audience when she performs — he’ll have to be preparing to perform himself by that point. It feels like the first break she’s gotten in…too long. 

When she finishes her performance and walks off-stage on numb legs, Finn’s waiting in the darkened wings, his bright white smile the homing beacon she desperately needs. He’s ostensibly there for moral support, but she knows he’s more concerned with shielding her from Ben. Finn does his job well, but he can’t prevent her from hearing Ben’s amplified voice, and her eyes instantly well with tears. She finds Finn’s hand, and he squeezes so hard it almost hurts. It helps, a little. His smile is strained, but he manages to deliver his lines — when did he become such a quick thinker? — believably.

“Oh, babe, I know it’s a lot — such a big performance for you! — but you did it! And you were amazing! I’m so, so proud of you!” She knows he means the words he’s saying, but right now, they’re for the benefit of anyone who might notice her tears, and that means at least as much to her as his opinion of her medley. It’s enough to get her through the rest of Ben’s performance and to compose herself enough that she can risk darting to the ladies’ room, where she can ensure she’s concealed any signs of her slip.

Of course it’s then, as she’s making her way back to Finn — when she is close, so close, to surviving the encounter without seeing more of Ben than his back — that she runs into him. They’re too close to pretend they haven’t seen each other, but they don’t need to say more than hello. So Rey can’t explain why she asks if they can talk. She shouldn’t, now is very much not the time or place, but she can’t stop herself. They find a quiet corner, and she can’t hold the words back any longer.

“I wanted to apologize, Ben. For the interview with Corden, I mean.” And so much more. “I know I shouldn’t have waited so long to say something to you about it, but I— I didn’t know how to apologize in a fucking text message. Christ. I” — her throat is thick and the sad laugh that escapes doesn’t do much to clear it — “I still don’t know how to apologize.”

There was a time she could read him like a book, but now, as he searches her eyes, she can’t interpret anything she’s seeing in his. _Everything_ about this hurts.

“Are you apologizing because you didn’t mean it, or because you did?” And maybe she can’t read him anymore, but she can hear the hurt in his voice, can hear how much it’s costing him to ask.

She’d thought it had been so painfully obvious, in that interview, how far gone she was for him. But maybe he needs it confirmed, or maybe he just needs to hear her say it in person.

“I meant it, Ben. And I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted.”

“Not what I wanted?” he echoes, and he keeps his voice low, careful that they’re not overheard, but his disbelief is clear. “No, I think it’s safe to say that wasn’t what I wanted,” he scoffs, lifting his hand towards his head in a familiar gesture. She sees the moment he remembers he’ll be back in front of cameras tonight; he can’t vent his agitation on his hair, and he briefly closes his eyes, drawing a slow breath. He’s barely holding it together, but when he continues, it’s not frustration she hears in his voice — it’s that aching sadness she knows all too well. 

“I figured you knew; I’m not the best at hiding my feelings and, god, I was in love with you before I knew it, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. One less thing to wonder about, you know?” 

He gives a tight smile, but doesn’t wait for her to answer before continuing. It’s fortunate because she can’t think beyond “I was in love with you.” He was? How did she not know? When did he stop loving her? Or does he still? Please, _god,_ does he still?

“And knowing you meant what you said, in that interview, that helps too.” His smile is more genuine now, before it twists into something rueful. “At first, when you told me it was time to end things, Christ, I could barely function. The entire time I was in Europe, I didn’t do anything but eat, shower, and show up where they told me to, when they told me to. You know I scheduled my whole tour around being here for your album release?” 

He was in love with her, he’d planned to be here for her — the way the world is shifting under her feet must show on her face; his voice turns soothing. She doesn’t deserve it.

“No, I know you didn’t ask me to, I wanted to. And then when that day actually came, I didn’t trust myself to be in the same state as you — because after everything I still wanted to be there for you.” His laugh is tinged with bitterness. “Or for _me_, really, because what I wanted was to throw myself at the feet of a woman who couldn’t have made it clearer that something that was” — his voice is tight with emotion, and the only thing worse than confronting the pain she’s caused would be to turn away from it now — ”that was _everything_ to me, was” — he swallows, his eyes falling closed in a pained grimace, his last words a whisper — “nothing to you.” 

She’d thought she’d been the only one hurting and it had been agonizing, but knowing she hurt him, too? She’s not sure she can ever forgive herself, but she hopes, desperately, that he can. She needs to tell him how she feels, but he gathers himself and starts talking again before she can break in.

“When we were…‘dating’” — he glances around; it kills her that even now, he’s protecting her — “I convinced myself that saying nothing was the right thing to do because if I told you and you didn’t— didn’t feel the same, we’d have to end it, and the last thing I wanted was to mess things up for you.” He offers her a weak smile. “But I know now, that it wasn’t fair to you, to be with you without telling you how I felt.”

She has no right to reach for him, but the only way to stop herself is to curl her fingers into her palms. The half-moon crescents that she’s leaving there are the least of the punishment she deserves for the way she’s hurt him.

“But it wasn’t fair to me either because—” he breaks off, swallowing heavily. “I’ve spent my whole life settling for scraps of affection, desperate for attention, approval. My parents, Luke, Snoke, it was always the same. And then, there was you.” 

It’s not that she doesn’t deserve it, but _god,_ to be grouped in with people who’ve hurt him so much. The pain jackknifes through her and— no one notices. Not the harried servers with their overloaded trays, looking only for an easy exit to the kitchen. Not the other guests lingering in the lobby, entirely absorbed in their own dramas. Not even Ben. He’s always seemed painfully aware of his own strength, and how easily he could hurt her if he ever forgot it. It used to chafe, but now? _Oh_, what she’d give to have a little more of his undeserved gentleness.

He pauses, allowing himself a moment to close his eyes — steeling himself? — before continuing. “After you ended things, all I could think about was how easy it had been for me to fall in love with you, and I kept asking myself, what is it about _me_ that’s so hard to love?”

She has to break in now, she can’t let him think this way. “Ben, you’re—”

“Please, just let me finish.” 

She owes him that much, at least. 

“Your interview helped, so much. Because that was when I started to believe, or hope, I guess, that maybe there was an explanation for why you didn’t feel the same way I did — or at least an explanation other than the one in my head.” He breaks eye contact, and, coward that she is, she’s glad of it. “Maybe it wasn’t that I’m defective. Unloveable.”

She’s going to draw blood, she’s biting her cheek so hard, but she has no right to break down in tears when Ben’s the one cutting his heart open in front of her. When he gives her a gentle smile, she’s never felt less deserving. 

“My therapist, she’s helped me see that I have a— a pattern.” He works his jaw, chewing out the next words. “Of setting myself up to be disappointed. Wanting things from people who aren’t able, or willing, to give them. And not telling you how I felt, that was part of that pattern. It wasn’t fair to you, but it wasn’t fair to me, either. Because it was torture” — that smile, it’s the one he uses when he doesn’t want to cry — “the best kind of torture, but torture all the same, to be with someone who didn’t love me back.”

It is agony to hear how her brokenness has nearly broken him. But she deserves this.

“So I hate to think you’ve been feeling bad about that interview. Because I don’t think I would have been willing to face that” — he swallows — “that you could never love me, that you don’t work that way, if I hadn’t heard you say it. God, Rey,” — she is the lowest of the low because she still wants to hear her name on his lips, even in that tone of distress — “please don’t look at me like that.” 

It must be plastered across her face, how devastated she is at having caused him this kind of pain. His smile is so forced, it hardly deserves the name, but he presses on. 

“I’m not— What I’m trying to say is, that interview helped me—” 

_Finish_, she thinks. _Finish because I need to tell you that you’re wrong. I loved you then and I love you now. I don’t deserve you, but if you let me, I will _try_. Please, please_ _let me try._

“—it helped me get over you.” 

No.

She’s too late. 

He’s wrong, so wrong, to think she could never love him. If anything, the opposite is true — as hard as she’s tried, she hasn’t found a way to _stop_ loving him. But that doesn’t matter because she’s too late. _He’s over her._

So she doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t move, even, which is a miracle when she is being carved to pieces — did she think she knew what ‘gutted’ meant before this moment? Before she felt the knife of ‘over you’ punch into her stomach and slice, wet-hot, up to her heart?

But he has saved her from doing the unforgivable. 

Because if she didn’t know he was over her, she’d have told him how she felt.

Holdo has been in her head for a few weeks; Rey’s been there her whole life. And she _is_ broken. The way she feels about Ben, this endless pit of neediness — it cannot be normal. If he let her, she would drown him in it.

And hadn’t he just said it himself? He deserves someone who doesn’t need months to accept their feelings.

He deserves someone who doesn’t come to him with a bruised heart that’s barely held together.

He deserves someone whole, someone better. 

He’d said falling in love with her had been easy. He deserves someone who’ll fall in love with him just as easily. 

It won’t be hard for him to find that person. 

She might have realized it too late, but Ben is so easy to love.

He bumps his arm against hers like they’re— like they’re drinking buddies and he’s just told her a joke. “We’re where we set out to be, aren’t we, Rey? Your dreams are coming true. And that’s what’s important, right?”

Her dreams? Her dreams are ash in her mouth. All she can think of is escaping. The clamor to get out, out, _out_ of this situation is a drumbeat, impossible to ignore, but there’s nowhere to go, and it’s too much.

And then, in an instant, it’s as if a plug has been pulled, and the current that was flooding her body is gone. She’s still standing in front of Ben, but she’s not really there any more. It’s not healthy to dissociate, she thinks distantly, but if she could feel anything, she’d be grateful that her emotions have taken a temporary holiday. 

She listens to herself respond to Ben as if it’s someone else speaking. “You’re right.” She musters a faint smile; that’s appropriate, isn’t it? ”We’re where we’re meant to be. I’m glad things are good for you now.” 

Holdo can tell almost instantly when she’s dissociating; something about her tone of voice or her expression. Ben doesn’t have professional training, but it seems unlikely that she’ll pass as a functioning human for long. She needs to wrap this up.

“I should probably get back to Finn, but it was good to see you. Good luck with the rest of your tour.”

She returns to Finn, and though he inspects the fixed smile on her face closely, he doesn’t question her then, or at the after party they close down that night. She doesn’t process a word anyone says to her, but the conversations are so formulaic, it’s easy to function on auto-pilot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The AMAs were actually on November 24th in 2019 (although in 2018, they were in early October) and the Whitney tribute was actually performed by Christina Aguilera (in 2017, in honor of the 25th anniversary of _The Bodyguard_). Playing fast and loose with the facts, but all for a greater purpose, I promise. To view the tribute, click [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHsfl3PHMAU).
> 
> Also, please look at this [gorgeous art](https://twitter.com/annareginar/status/1298652732837048320?s=20) that @annareginar gifted me; it's Rey's album cover art and I don't have the words to express how **perfect** it is (but if you follow me on Twitter, you will know that I tried).


	63. the feeling sinks in

**October 7, 2019**

For a moment when she wakes the next morning, her shields are not yet up, and the wave of emotion — Ben loved her, he loved her and he doesn’t anymore, he stopped loving her, and of course he did, because Rey ruins things, that’s what she does, how could anyone love her when she’s like this — it batters her with the force of a hurricane before she slams down her barriers.

Pretending that things are normal is exhausting, but after she and Finn have breakfast together, she’s not sure how to get him out of her hair. She has a couple hours before she’ll meet the choreographer to go over her routine, yet again, and Finn doesn’t seem willing to give her space. Rey doesn’t realize anything’s amiss until he answers the door to let Holdo in. 

Shit. 

Her shields are no match for this — because her friend saw through her mask and is trying to help her in the best way he knows how; because Dr. H made a house call for her; because at this point, the association between seeing Dr. H’s lavender hair and gentle smile and feeling intense emotional vulnerability is almost Pavlovian. Her eyes well up without her permission. Finn gives her a quick hug and assures her he’ll be back in time to bring her to the dance studio.

In the days that follow, she tries to remember anything about her experience at the AMAs other than the emotional rollercoaster of knowing Ben loved her, but only after it was too late. Performing at the goddamn American Music Awards, something so incredible she’d hardly dared to dream of it, should mean _something._ Maybe if she reminds herself of that often enough, she’ll start to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * My incredible beta has written a pre-_Off Script_ ficlet; spend 500 words with Leia, Han, and the cabin in Aspen: check out [hot flashes waking me up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119690).
>   * So many of you have been so kind about letting me know that the past few chapters have resonated with you — that you sympathize with Rey or maybe even relate to her. If you've commented in the past, you know that I reply to each and every comment — but since I'm running a few days behind in my replies (and probably will through the weekend), I wanted to let you know that I'm still reading your comments, and I promise not to let them go unanswered. I see you, I value you, and I appreciate you. Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. It wouldn't be the same without you.


	64. it's not fair that you're not around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **New Content:** The second chapter in _Off Script / The Extended Cut_ (scenes told from the perspective of characters other than Rey) is up. Chronologically, it's set immediately before this chapter, so if you want to read the full story in order, check it out by clicking [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967599/chapters/63726277#workskin) (there’s a link at the end of that chapter that will bring you back here).

**October 24, 2019**

Rey opens her tour at the House of Blues in San Diego, and for all the years she dreamt of this moment, she never imagined the thought running through her mind before the show would be, “I can’t believe Ben’s not here.” 

He’d told her that there’s nothing like having people sing your words back to you, knowing they’ve come out just because you’re there, and he was right. She’s pathetically grateful that she can have that thought without crying. She’s got a show to put on. 

She’s even more grateful when she realizes, grabbing drinks after the show with her band and the guys who’d opened for them — a group that two years ago, she’d have been thrilled to be opening for — that it was the last time she’d thought of Ben for a few hours.

She does cry when she tells Dr. H about all of it later, but still, it feels like growth.


	65. the memories, they will hold on to you

**December 25, 2019**

The North America leg of her tour wraps in Mexico City on December 22nd; she doesn’t need to be in Australia until the 28th, and six days off in a row is more rest than she’s had since October. It’s wonderful and terrifying in equal measure. It helps, though, to know that she doesn’t have to spend the holiday in Los Angeles and that she doesn’t have to spend it alone.

Her connecting flight routes her through LAX, and when Rey gets off the plane, Finn’s waiting, bags in hand and sunglasses already on, to walk with her to their boarding gate. The long flight to Fiji is worth it just for the look on his face when he sees the overwater bungalow they’re staying in. It’s nice to finally get a perk from the fact that paparazzi hound her every step; the hotel had been more than happy to comp their stay in exchange for the free publicity.

On Christmas morning, Finn reveals that in lieu of a present, he’s gotten sign-off from Poe to come with her on the Australian leg of her tour. He’ll be getting behind-the-scenes footage for…something — her social media accounts, probably, since she’s been shit at providing content herself lately — but the details don’t matter, because they’ll be together.

She’s been working with Dr. H on getting better about asking for what she needs, at recognizing what she needs in the first place, but if there’s a day when she’d be able to ask for something like that, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be anytime soon. Afterwards, she realizes she didn’t even thank Finn — but they were both busy mopping up their tears.

After Australia, she’s scheduled to be back in LA for almost a month before she leaves for her European tour in mid-February. She’s never really alone on tour — there are always people around — but she’s so often lonely. It’s such a relief to learn that instead of having six days together, she’ll have six more weeks before she has to say goodbye to Finn again. Six weeks before she has to be alone again. 

She and Finn had planned to spend their holiday relaxing, but once she has a moment’s reprieve from the non-stop pace of the tour, her thoughts fixate on Ben. Is he in LA, or did he and Leia go out to that cabin in Aspen he mentioned? He’d wanted to take her there, but they never found the time. It’s one more thing on her long list of regrets; if she can’t be with him, shouldn’t she at least be permitted to envision how he’ll spend his day? For all the pain she’s endured, isn’t she owed at least that much? 

If he and Leia are celebrating Christmas in LA, surely Luke’s been invited to join them — at least for dinner. The idea of Ben facing that alone is gut-churning. As much as it hurts to think of him moving on, she desperately hopes that if he has to bear Luke’s company, he has someone at his side. But thinking of someone else giving him a pep talk in Leia’s driveway, someone else lacing their fingers through his, someone else with more right to feel as fiercely protective as she does now — she’s not selfless enough for that not to hurt. 

She hadn’t realized it then, of course, but the first night he’d spoken about his father had been the start of things — for her, at least. When he shared that the holidays were the one time of year his father seemed content to be home, she’d heard the happiness of those memories, but the hollowness in the spaces around them, too. And in their shared loneliness, she’d started to feel a little less alone.

Maybe this is the one time of year that Ben and Leia find it easy to talk to each other about Han, but if not, if Ben’s talking about those memories with someone new— but it doesn’t make sense to get upset about this now. It’s been weeks— months since he told her he was over her. 

But she’s trying to get better at accepting her feelings instead of arguing with them. So she acknowledges that it’s— it’s devastating to imagine Ben confessing to someone else that he hated to see the Christmas decorations packed up early; how jealous he was of the houses where the lights stayed up ‘til January.

There’s a difference, though, in accepting her feelings and dwelling on them. Dr. H has given Rey her mobile number for anything urgent, but she needs a distraction, not an emergency session. So instead of the relaxing holiday she and Finn had planned, they go snorkeling, horseback riding, and zip lining. They go on glass bottom boat rides to see coral reefs and ATV rides to see how fast they can go. Finn drinks fruity drinks and Rey doesn’t, and while it isn’t great to need the coping skills Dr. H has taught her, it’s nice to have them.


	66. ready for combat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a tweet with an embedded video; if you click it, the video will play. 
> 
> **Note**: The tweet and embedded video will not display properly if you’re using your own workskin or if you’ve selected "Hide Creator's Style", and the video won’t play at all if you’ve downloaded this work; I’ve included a link at the end of the chapter in case you’d still like to check out the video. The song lyrics are NSFW.

**January 4, 2020**

Walking into the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s studio, she’s as tired as she was when she arrived in Fiji, albeit slightly more tan. She’s overheated, too; knowing that winter in the Northern hemisphere means summer in the Southern hemisphere isn’t precisely the same thing as experiencing it, and the summer sun down under is scorching. 

She’s backed by local musicians for her on-air performance. Whichever PR person orchestrated _that_ is probably wearing a smug smile back in LA, but for her, it’s unsettling to work with new people now that she’s used to Jannah and Tallie on stage with her, night after night. 

So it might be that she’s tired, or it might be the heat, or it might be that she’s more nervous than usual about her performance, or it might be all of the above. Really, though, there’s not much of an excuse for what happens next. 

Like so many things, if she cared for Ben a little less, she might not have made such a mess of things. As it is, she chooses a song that is— well, possibly she could find something worse, but it would take some effort. It’s obvious, in retrospect; of course people would assume that she had Ben in mind when she picked this song. But it’s impossible to make the connection, knowing Ben like she does. 

_For all the times you rained on my parade_. He’d told her to remember the moment the night she’d played Webster Hall. He’d held her hand while they waited to hear her song on the radio. He got her a cake to celebrate reaching a million Twitter followers. Ben never rained on her parade — he was the one throwing it.

_For all the clubs you get in using my name_. The closest they’d come to a club in all their time together had been Maz’s Cantina, and, of course, it had been his name that got them in. She hadn’t thought of that before. If he’d been a different sort of person, he could have made her feel like such a burden — but no matter where they went, he’d always made her feel like it wasn’t worth going to without her. 

_I'm better sleeping on my own._ Her sleep is just one of the things that’s worse without him. 

_I’ll be moving on_. She’s _trying_, but fuck, it’s day-by-day.

None of that matters, though. The firestorm of commenters are absolutely convinced the song is a direct commentary on her ex.

She doesn’t even wait for Poe to weigh in; she can’t stand for people to say this shit about Ben. He doesn’t deserve it. There’s so much she can’t fix, but this, at least, she can. So she fires off a response. 

She’s tempted to take a screenshot showing the last time he’d called her, but Finn talks her down at the last second. Still, she can’t take her eyes away from her call log. July 28, 2019. And today is January 4th. Has it really been more than five months since they said goodbye? Since she could call him hers, in the smallest of ways? 

Soon, they will have been apart longer than they were together, but if she closes her eyes, she’s right back in that hallway outside Poe’s office, thinking _‘Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you when it’s only been eight days and you haven’t even left me yet?’_

God, she’s been trying so hard, but she still hasn’t figured out the answer to that yet. 

The person she was a year ago could have handled these feelings so much more easily — not _better,_ Dr. Holdo’s helped her see that, but more easily. And there’s a part of Rey that longs to go back to the way she used to be, to disconnect from everything, simply to have a buffer from the pain. 

Holdo wouldn’t be pleased by that sentiment, she thinks, but realizes almost immediately that she’s being unfair. Dr. H mostly just wants Rey to be honest — which means, Rey acknowledges with the mingled dread and resignation she feels whenever she thinks about their sessions, that their next meeting will likely involve delving into why she so desperately wants to avoid the feelings that merely thinking about Ben evokes.

Before she puts away her phone, she sends a text to her choreographer asking to run through the steps they’ll be introducing on the second leg of the U.S. tour. She has a video session with Dr. H tomorrow morning. Until then, she could use a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics from Rey's #ThirtySecondThursday (from Halsey’s cover of Justin Bieber’s “Love Yourself”):**
> 
> ’Cause if you like the way you look that much  
Oh baby, you should go and fuck yourself  
And if you think that I'm still holdin' on to somethin'  
You should go and fuck yourself
> 
> ‘Cause if you like the way you look that much  
Well baby, you should go and fuck yourself
> 
> If you prefer to play the #ThirtySecondThursday clip in a separate window, click [here](https://youtu.be/alqHhh58bwE). To see the full version of the song, click [here](https://youtu.be/_1pUqmaPsFA)).


	67. the room is on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **FYI:** This chapter ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger; my plan is to post the next chapter on Sunday. Almost there, friends.
> 
> **Britishisms:**  
_Skiving off:_ (slang) Avoiding something (often work, school, or another duty) by leaving early or staying away
> 
> **Content Note:** Rey uses coping strategies to stay present when a situation feels like it might overwhelm her.

**January 26, 2020**

Rey carefully rations her fluid intake the day of the Grammys. Things are better now, but she doesn’t want to tempt another run-in with Ben outside the toilets. 

He’s up for Artist of the Year, and they’re serious about nominees being in place on time, but she knows him; there’s not a chance Ben will be there before he has to be, so she gets there early to ensure their arrivals don’t overlap. She’s managed to convince Finn to come this year — or maybe that’s Poe’s influence; it will be a working night for both of them — but with his presence on one side and Rose’s on the other, she feels alright about seeing Ben for the first time since she learned that he once cared for her.

And it’s fine, it’s really fine. 

Until Ben’s category is announced. 

She’s been careful not to let her eyes drift from the stage, but there’s a projection that shows the nominees as they’re announced. When she sees him seated between Leia and Luke, all she can think about is how much she wants is to be next to him. It’s as though being in the same room as him has magnetized her; as if there is something in every atom, unseen but fundamental, that vibrates with the need to go to him. 

It’s too late; he wouldn’t welcome her presence now — but he would have, once. As much as she wants to go to him right now, she wants to go back in time even more. The ever-present ache of it — of realizing she had something only after she’d lost it — flares, bright and burning. 

But then Ben is standing. She’s missed something from the presenter, but it doesn’t matter, because this can only mean one thing: he’s won.

There’s almost certainly a camera on her. If she doesn’t nail exactly the right expression — a supportive friend, pleased for him, but not _too_ invested — the Internet will be all over it. But elation is filling her chest and spilling out in her smile. She’s just so goddamn proud of him. Besides, whatever fallout comes can’t be any worse than it’s been every other time she’s worn her heart on her sleeve. She loves Ben, and she is so happy for him, and she can’t keep that from her face, won’t even try.

He accepts the Grammy, and his speech starts as she expects; thanking his family, the Academy, the fans, and people who made the album possible. It seems like he’s about to wrap up, but then:

“Finally, to Rey.” He scans the auditorium, trying to pick her out in the massive space. If he’s anxious to find her, his soft smile hides it well. “Where are you?” 

The whole fucking room cranes their neck to look, their eyes quickly coallescing on her. If there wasn’t one already, there’s certainly a camera trained on her by now, which means she can’t dig her nails into her thighs to ground herself. She presses her heels into the floor; that, at least, will be invisible.

Ben’s found her by now, and god, they might be in the same room but they are worlds apart because he’s looking at her with an easy grin, while her heart is thundering and her lungs are filled with lead. She can’t count five red things because she can’t look away from Ben. 

Sight is out, then. Sound? It’s frighteningly quiet as everyone waits for Ben to speak. Taste? Even if it were an option, every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated when he said her name. Touch? Okay. She can do that. 

Her back is pressed against the padded plastic chair, her arms against the rigid armrests; that’s one and two. The lining of her skirt is scratchy against her thighs, the silk overlay smooth beneath her hands. Three and four. She flexes her feet, unseen, and feels the straps of her heels dig into the tops of her feet. Five. 

Ben’s friendly smile is a dagger to her, but she’s determined to stay present.

“I wouldn’t be standing here tonight without you.” He’s looking right at her, but even now, she doesn’t know who these words are for — them, or her? But then he glances away for a moment before taking a breath and meeting her eyes again. 

Oh. This — the smile that is less a quirk of his lips and more the warmth in his eyes, the barely-visible twitch of his fingers, the words he’s about to say — this is all for her.

“Rey, I’m so grateful for what you gave me.” The moment stretches out, suspended — until he lets his gaze drop, turning to ask a question to a woman sitting in the front row. 

“Deborah, can I say she has my vote for next year?” His question is directed to the president of the Recording Academy. The camera in the stadium doesn’t switch over quickly enough to capture it, but she must shake her head ‘no’ because a few people sitting near her laugh.

Ben laughs too. “Ok, then I won’t _say_ that.” The audience joins him in laughter now, and Rey manages a weak smile. “I know I’m over time, so, I’ll just say one more time” — oh, how she’s missed having that soft smile of his aimed at her — ”thank you.”

They break for commercials.

Fortunately, Artist of the Year is saved for late in the night, so Rey doesn’t have to spend much longer pretending she doesn’t notice the sidelong glances she’s getting from everyone in the audience. 

Ben’s nailed the upbeat, supportive ‘turns out we work better as friends’ mood that their plan had called for all along, but this room is full of sharks, eager to scent the drop of blood that will tell them Ben’s feelings aren’t mutual. Well, they’re not going to get the reaction they want from her. Rey shredded her heart for fame. She won’t let it fail her now.

She doesn’t remember walking out of the auditorium, bailing on Finn and Rose, or getting a car home. She must have done those things, though, because she finds herself being dropped off in front of her home. She has a moment of panic, worrying that she’s dissociating, and then realizes that if she’s worried about that, it’s a promising sign that she’s still present. Still, she sends Finn a text.

Her stomach squirms; it’s still so hard to ask for things, but this is important, and she knows Finn won’t mind. She’ll have breakfast delivered for them as a thank you, she decides as she unlocks the front door and drops her keys into the dish on the table. She’s about to ask whether he wants bagels or doughnuts when his replies come through, rapid-fire.

There’s streetlight coming in through the windows, but otherwise the apartment is dark, and quiet — but even when they’re not together, Finn does his best to make sure she doesn’t feel alone. She swallows thickly. They’ve talked a bit about her sessions with Holdo. Her shows aren’t that different night to night, and she doesn’t see much of the cities she travels to, so therapy is the only source of variety in her life. Sometimes she jokes about discovering things about herself that Finn’s known for years. Turns out, she’s scared to let people in — who would have guessed? Sometimes she shares things she thinks he can relate to. Sometimes she shares things just because they matter to her. 

Memory, more than the faint light from the windows, guides her feet as she makes her way across the living room to collapse on the couch. Shoes that were “surprisingly comfortable” six hours ago come off with a sigh, and as she curls her newly-freed feet under the long skirts of a dress she should probably change out of before she falls asleep in it, she looks back over Finn’s texts.

It’s one thing for him to think it’s a big deal that she’s asking for help. But he’d said, “H will be proud too” — he’s right, of course, and it’s not like Rey thought he wasn’t paying attention, but there’s a difference between believing he’s listening and having proof of it. 

And she knows _why_ he listens. Because they chose each other years ago. Because they choose each other every day. Because he loves her. She makes herself sit with that for a moment. To accept that someone loves her so deeply. That she loves him back just as fiercely.

It’s a lot, but it’s manageable in a way it wouldn’t have been even a month ago, and knowing that gives Rey the strength to decide she’s going to send another message. She wants to thank Ben for mentioning her in his speech, but mostly, she wants to tell him how very proud of him she is. He wanted to prove everyone wrong about him. Today, she got to see him do it, and nothing could have made her happier than seeing him on that stage.

She doesn’t want to text Ben, because it could only end badly. She’d be devastated if he simply ignored her attempt to reach out, but if tonight taught her anything, it’s that she’s not remotely ready to have him back in her life as her friend — which means if he thinks the lines of communication are open again, she’s in trouble. A call would be far worse; the odds are low that he would pick up, but no matter how small the chance, she’s not going to risk it. An email seems too formal, but finally, she hits on a solution.

In their early days, the fact that she never checked her DMs had been a point of contention between them, although it hadn’t taken long before Ben had stopped pestering her about it and simply forwarded any tweets he wanted her to see by text message. Which means a DM is the perfect solution; messaging Ben on Twitter is as close to one-way communication as she can get. 

She’s so relieved to have figured out a way to contact Ben without inadvertently reopening the lines of communication that when she clicks the button that will let her start writing a message to @TheRealBOS, it takes her a moment to understand what she’s seeing. If she’d given it a moment’s thought, she might have realized composing a message to him would open up their chat history — which consists only of those fan tweets he’d sent her the early days of their relationship, from before Ben realized — or accepted — that she wasn’t going to check her DMs. At least, that’s what she should be seeing — but it’s not.

She’s looking at messages he sent her earlier today.


	68. a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note:** In this chapter, Rey remembers an incident in which a car accident — which could have been serious — was barely avoided. If you prefer not to read this, skip the paragraph that begins with three asterisks (***).
> 
> **Britishisms:**
> 
> **__**_Skive:_ (slang) Avoid something (often work, school, or a duty) by leaving early or staying away; shirk
> 
> **__**_Lift:_ Elevator
> 
> Full disclosure: This chapter ends on what I would consider a modest(?) cliffhanger and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update next (but with two chapters left, let's be real — we all know where this is going).

**January 26, 2020**

The only light in Rey’s living room comes from the faint glow of her phone, if there is a sound, she can’t hear it over her thundering heartbeat. She starts reading the messages from Ben.

—January 26, 2020—

“We’re going to be in the same room in just a few hours, and I don’t know how I’ll stand it.”

Oh, god. She didn’t think it could get worse than thinking he was over her, but this? Knowing he hates her now? This is so much worse. 

The boning of her dress isn’t forgiving. Is that why it hurts to breathe?

“I want to be okay with it, but I’m not. I’m just not. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be.”

At the AMAs, back in October, he’d told her that he wasn’t angry anymore. She doesn’t think he would have lied to her, so he must have been lying to himself back then.

Why would he send her these messages through Twitter, though, when he knows she doesn’t check them? Unless— unless that’s the reason why he chose Twitter: he doesn’t _want_ to give her a chance to explain herself. He’s convinced that she can’t — or won’t — make things right, but he’s so angry he has to let his feelings out.

Her heart aches for both of them. How soon after their conversation in October did this start? She clicks his name to get to the top of the conversation and sees the messages she’d originally anticipated. It’s strange to see the fan tweets from the early days of their relationship. Bittersweet. She remembers laughing over some of these with him. Others she doesn’t think he ever sent her. Did he reconsider them? Decide they weren’t funny enough to merit texting?

She keeps scrolling and her heart skips a beat. Because the next message isn’t something he’s forwarded from a fan, and it’s from a lot earlier than October. It’s a message he sent the afternoon of their one-month anniversary.

—February 6, 2019—

“I keep re-watching the video of you dancing to my song. You’re captivating.”

She remembers him teasing her, that day, about following him back, asking for it as an anniversary present because it annoyed him that she didn’t open his DMs. And then he’d sent her this — about a video, she remembers the one he’s talking about, that had been up for weeks by then. A silly thing with her, Poe, and Finn. She keeps reading.

—February 10, 2019—

From the night of the Oscars: “You took my breath away in that dress, tonight. I didn’t know that was a real thing before you, but I saw you and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.”

—February 11, 2019—

“You called me ‘sir’ on the phone tonight, and I was so turned on, I thought I was going to pass out from the blood rush.”

Oh god. She remembers that conversation. He was in New York to film SNL. She can’t remember why she’d called him ‘sir’ — something silly, she thinks — but she remembers him asking her not to. She’d thought he said it was something to do with his horrid boarding school, but maybe she was the one who supplied that excuse?

“Christ, that’s so embarrassing. Thank god I can delete these as soon as I send them. Even knowing you’ll never read these, I’d hate to have to look at them.”

Wait, does he think— does he not know that deleting the message only deletes it on his end?

“Talking about my dead dad was a helpful way to deal with an inconvenient erection, at least…and, honestly, talking with you just helped in general.” 

—February 13, 2019—

A couple days later: “I tell you things I’ve never told anyone else. Would it be strange to tell you I miss you? I think so, but still, I want you to know.”

She feels herself tearing up, but his next message makes her smile. 

—February 18, 2019—

“I’m not giving the hat back.” He hadn’t returned her hat when he came back from hosting SNL, and every time he wore it after that, it set their fans squealing again. She wonders if he still has it.

—February 21, 2019—

“I love how passionate you are. I don’t think I care as much about anything as you care about nearly everything, but it’s like I come alive with you. Like the colors are turned up.” 

She’s not sure what prompted this, but— her throat is tight.

—February 28, 2019—

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier than I am with you in my car. When we’re together, everything just feels easy. I hated saying goodbye to you tonight.” 

She’d felt that way, too, so many times last summer, but when she looks at the date of his message, she starts to cry in earnest. February. He’d written that in _February_.

—March 2, 2019—

Then, in early March, “I’m going to lose it if I can’t kiss you soon.” They were completely aligned on that, at least.

—March 4, 2019—

“Do you think Poe can be bribed? You’re making me desperate.” 

She laughs through her tears and fumbles in the dark for the box of tissues on the end table next to her. She’d also contemplated bribing Poe — after all, desperate times call for desperate measures, and he’d kept putting off the date for her first kiss with Ben.

—March 5, 2019—

Then it’s a flurry of messages from March 5th, and she feels ridiculous for knowing that they’d had their first kiss the following day. 

“I’m just going to tell you how I feel. It feels like taking advantage, otherwise.”

“Or is it selfish to tell you? You’ve worked so hard to get here, I don’t want to mess it up for you, and I’d be putting you in an impossible position, wouldn’t I? I should be grateful you tolerate me.”

“Fuck. Rey, what am I going to do?”

—March 6, 2019—

The next night: “You saw right through me, of course, knew I was just looking for an excuse to kiss you. But I let myself believe it was just an excuse for you, too. I’m so pathetic. When will I learn?” 

She wants to reach back in time, scold herself, comfort him. Instead, she resettles herself on the couch, pulling loose a corner of her skirt that had gotten trapped under her legs, and keeps reading.

Later that week, he’d written, “I can’t keep my hands off you. I can’t keep my eyes off you. I can’t keep my thoughts off you. Rey, what are you doing to me?”

Minutes later: “You couldn’t answer that question even if I asked you, could you? You have no idea what you do to me.”

—March 9, 2019—

“I fucking hate Disneyland. Not even for you, Rey.” She laughs. He sent that one the morning of their trip. The next few are from late that night.

“I take it back. I think I’d do anything to make you smile, to make you laugh, to make you happy. Sometimes I think it’s absurd to feel this way when I didn’t even know you three months ago, but then I think, how could I not feel this way?”

“You’re never going to see this, so I’m just going to say it. Your parents fucking suck. I don’t have to know them to know that you were the best thing about them, and they let you go.”

“Rey, how could anyone let you go?” 

It’s devastating to read his disbelief on her screen, especially knowing what came next for the two of them. But she can’t stop reading now.

—March 17, 2019—

A couple of days later: “You texted me last night to remind me I can’t sleep with anyone but you. Rey, I can’t even think of anyone but you.” 

They’d slept together after she’d drunkenly sent those texts. He wrote to her about that, too.

—March 18, 2019—

“I know it’s not the same for you, but am I fooling myself, to think you might have feelings for me, too? It felt like more than just sex.”

She should turn on a light, but the time it would take feels too precious to waste.

—March 21, 2019—

He must have sent the next messages after a paparazzo had caught them kissing. “I love that now, everyone knows that you’re mine. Thank god you’ll never see this because you’d hate that I put it that way, but Rey, I’m just as much yours.” 

Immediately after: “If only that were true, right? I’m yours, and I won’t even risk asking if you’re really mine because if you’re not, I’d rather have the illusion for a little longer.”

—March 24, 2019—

Later that week, he’d written, “I’m updating my end-of-life forms. Forget not being able to recognize family and friends. If there’s ever a day when I can’t remember what it was like to see you in those heels, telling me what you wanted, there’s no point in living.”

That night is seared into her memory, too. Once she got him in bed, she couldn’t keep her hands off him, but she’d felt a desperate need to change the tenor of their interactions. She’d been convinced that the tenderness he insisted on that first week was just a carryover from the lovesick way he’d gotten used to behaving with her in public, and the thought had made her stomach turn for reasons she hadn’t cared to examine at the time. Knowing now how deeply he felt for her, Rey feels that same sickness in her belly — but this time it’s from regret over her own actions, that she was so determined to cheapen what he wanted to give her. 

—March 25, 2019—

“I can’t believe how stubborn you are. We HAVE to go public. It’s not safe anymore. That photographer nearly killed you and you act like it’s no big deal. When are you going to realize that you matter to people?” 

*** She’s tried to block out that memory, but now it comes crashing back. On a narrow two-lane road, a car pulls alongside her, keeping pace with her no matter how much she slows down or speeds up. A camera flashes and her vision whites out. Hands gripping the wheel, as if that will help, blinking, blinking, blinking, and her vision clears to show an on-coming truck barreling towards them. Her imagination supplies a vivid rendering of the collision that will send her car spinning off the cliff, but at the last possible second, the paparazzo's driver pulls back. 

If she hadn’t been on speaker phone with Ben at the time, he never would have known what (almost) happened.

He’d quickly come to a decision. “I’m going to Poe. I don’t know whether you don’t see the risk or you don’t think it matters, but I do. If you hate me for this, so be it. I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt.”

Poe hadn’t said a word to her about Ben’s concerns, but looking at the date, he must have cleared them to go public as soon as he heard from Ben. Would it have changed anything, if she’d known then that Ben was worried for her? She’d like to think so, but if she’s being honest, she probably would have found a way to explain it away. She hadn’t been ready to believe he could love her, and now, it’s too late.

—April 1, 2019—

“I thought my heart was going to stop when you saw this photo of us on my phone. I can’t believe I came up with a decent excuse; you know I’m shit at thinking on my feet.” 

He absolutely is, but he must have done a good job just that once, because the photo is there, too, and she doesn’t remember having seen it. It’s clear from the background that it’s one taken while they were in New York for Leia’s Hall of Fame induction.

“I’ve been looking at it every spare second since we got back yesterday. It’s just— the way you’re looking at me in it. Rey, it can’t still be an act for you, can it? At least not entirely?”

She’s looking at Ben with an expression of— well, she can see how it would have given him hope.

—April 3, 2019—

“I’m losing it. I almost followed a Reylo fan account. Christ, I’m about to start a Reylo fan account. I don’t think this is normal.” 

“Actually, I’m certain it isn’t because normal people don’t have the option of asking thousands of people to weigh in on how their maybe-fake, maybe-not girlfriend really feels by analyzing paparazzi photos.”

—April 8, 2019—

“No matter what, the fact that you believe me, Rey, it means everything to me.” 

She’d thought it a strange quirk of Ben’s, that he’d kept track of their “anniversary”; only now does she realize how the timeline of their relationship etched itself into her memory, too. She’d begun staying at Ben’s in early April, a habit that started the night when Ben asked what Luke’s side of the story had been and learned Rey never bothered to ask it.

“I can’t help it, though. It has to mean something, doesn’t it, that you told Finn about us? I offered to send Mitaka, but you had Finn come over instead. I hadn’t even let myself hope you’d told him, but you said it so casually, like of course he knew.”

—April 21, 2019—

“I love when you let me hold you.” The same day, “This is so unfair to you.”

—April 25, 2019—

”Rey, let me be good to you. I could be so good for you.”

—May 14, 2019—

“You’re adorable even when you’re sick. I told you that already, and if you didn’t already know I love you, you must now, huh?” 

She doesn’t actually remember him calling her adorable, but she was pretty out of it. She’d had similar thoughts about him, though; Ben hadn’t gotten ill while they were together, but when he was exhausted and looked awful, when he was sleeping funny and started snoring, when he had something stuck in his teeth — at the moments when she should find him least attractive, she’d think, “you’re adorable,” and her heart would twinge. It was sort of impressive, in a twisted way, how long she’d managed to ignore that she’d fallen in love with him. Ben had accepted it much more easily. 

If only he still felt the same.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever tried to take care of you before. I can hardly believe you’re letting me do it now.” He’d taken advantage of her moment of weakness, but she could hardly be upset about it. “All I want to do is take care of you, Rey. Please let me.”

—May 17, 2019—

“Fuck. The song was a terrible idea. You’ve barely said a word and that’s my answer, isn’t it? Why do I keep trying to force this?”

God, he’d actually recorded “Sweet Thing” for her when she was too sick to do a cover and she’d managed to convince herself that, despite all the time they spent star-gazing and the line about stars reflected in her eyes, he hadn’t actually meant for her to draw any connection between his feelings and the song he’d chosen. 

Her messed up childhood had really done a number on her, hadn’t it?

But she’s trying to be kinder to herself about that.

—May 28, 2019—

“You really don’t get it, do you? You think I took that video of you because I wanted to post it? I took it because I remember being in the backseat of my parents’ car watching them sing to each other — and I never had someone to sing to until you. I took it because even though we sell pieces of ourselves for a living, there are parts of you that only I get to see. I took it because sometimes you look like sunlight and it hurts not to bottle it.”

“Do you not know what it’s like to be loved, or is this your way of letting me down easy? Because if it’s the first, please let me show you.”

“But, fuck, if it’s the second — I could ruin everything.”

“God, I wish I knew what you were thinking. If I tell you and you don’t feel the same, we can’t possibly go on like this — and that would be so unfair to you, after all you’ve sacrificed.”

He’d been so anxious not to force her hand — and in the end, she’d forced his. 

“You’re already giving me more than you planned, and still, I want more.”

She’s gripping her phone so tight her hand is screaming in pain. She scrolls down, sets her phone on her lap, and reads on as she presses a thumb into her aching palm.

—June 6, 2019—

“When I said ‘she’s the one,’ I didn’t expect Twitter to think it was a declaration of my intentions, but — were you laughing with me or at me?”

Their fans had lost it when he’d retweeted her cover of “I’m the One” with those words — and for a moment she’s transported to last summer. How she’d texted to tease him about it. How his replies had made her laugh. How her hands had shaken as she’d erased the message she nearly sent: “God, Ben, I love you.” Knowing what she knows now — what if she had? Would he have immediately confessed the same? Could that text have fixed everything? 

Maybe. But it’s taken months of work with Dr. H to get to where she is today. So maybe not.

“Because — fuck, I don’t even know how you feel.”

“But it isn’t a joke to me. I can’t imagine feeling this way about anyone else. I don’t want to.”

—June 27, 2019—

“I know you think I’m nervous about your presales, but I swear that’s not why I couldn’t sleep last night. And I know you’ve been waiting for today for so much longer than I have, and I don’t have a right to say this, but”

“Fuck, Rey, I’m so goddamn proud of you.” She snatches her phone from her lap and keeps reading. 

“I couldn’t sleep because all I could think about was today. I can’t fucking wait for sales to start. I’m not nervous at all. I’m fucking excited. Anyone who gives your music half a chance is going to hear what I do. And we’re going to make sure that they give it a chance, Rey.”

She’d spent the night before her presales started tossing and turning, but Ben hadn’t even attempted sleep. She’d thought— well, she’d thought wrong.

—July 1, 2019—

“You have no idea how transparent you are.”

Fuck. In July? She swallows. She’d loved him then, of course, but he’d known it? She certainly hadn’t.

“We could fuel a rocket ship with the energy you bottle up every time we talk about the Fourth of July.”

Oh. Their vacation. Not her feelings.

“You think I’d deprive you of a family vacation? I am dangerously close to offering to give you a family. At the very fucking least I am going to give you this. We are NOT going to Aspen instead.”

A minute later: “You’ll love Aspen in the winter.”

—July 12, 2019—

“I just finished another meeting for the tour. I’m going to hate being an ocean away from you for 3 weeks. At least on the second leg, I’ll be in the States. I know it’ll be right before your tour, but— I made sure we wouldn’t overlap. Maybe you could fly out, once or twice? And I’ll be done before you leave. I could go with you. If you wanted?”

Every moment of that horrific day in October is etched in her memory, and she can hear him say, _I scheduled my whole tour around being here for your album release_. But it had been so much more than that. He’d wanted her to be with him. He’d wanted to be with her, too.

“Do you want that? We haven’t even talked about it. I’ve got your schedule memorized and for all I know, you’re looking forward to having a break from me.”

“I know I should talk to you, but fuck, if this is all I get— I’m not ready to give it up yet. I know it’s wrong. I know.”

“You must know, though, right?”

Her dress is already hopelessly wrinkled; it doesn’t matter now if she draws her knees up, making herself a little ball. A planet with nothing to orbit.

—July 15, 2019—

When she sees the date, her stomach drops. She can’t forget the way his words had sent her into a tailspin that July night, but— what must it have been like for him?

“What a fool. What a classic fucking fool. I tell you I love you and you tell me you love fucking me.”

But then, only minutes later: “Shit, I’m such an ass. I’m the one who isn’t holding up their end of the bargain. You were so much nicer about it than I deserved.”

Nice? She squirms. Because it feels like she cut both their hearts out that night.

“And fuck, I could have lost you completely. I’ve been terrified that if I told you, I’d lose you. And you’re still here. You’re still here and that’s not what usually happens when I love someone.”

It’s October again, and he’s putting knives in her stomach. This one sounds like _I’ve spent my whole life settling for scraps of affection, desperate for attention, approval. My parents, Luke, Snoke, it was always the same. _He’d written this before he added her to that list.

“You’re still here. And the smallest piece of you is better than nothing at all. And at least— now you know.”

But she hadn’t. He loved her, and she’d refused to see it. Hadn’t it been fun to unpack _that_ with Dr. H? 

In the days after the AMAs, reeling from _I was in love with you_, the only thought that had offered her the slightest solace was the belief that perhaps Ben was mistaken — that he hadn’t _really_ loved her. 

She’d carefully tended the seed of an idea until she could bring it to Holdo — who promptly poured petrol on it (“Why don’t you want to believe that Ben loved you?”), struck a match (“Is that an old belief, that you’re unlovable?”), and stood calmly beside her as the whole thing was consumed in the ensuing inferno (“It’s hard to let go of beliefs that have helped us cope for so long — and it sounds like believing you were unlovable helped you make sense of a world where so many adults let you down. But it’s not serving you now, Rey. It’s time to stop blaming yourself. Let yourself grieve. Let yourself heal”).

The grieving, the healing, it is...a work in progress. But it is easier and easier to remember to be kind to herself. She takes a deep breath, sinks her shoulders down, and relaxes her grip on her phone.

Maybe it’s not fair to say that Ben loved her and she’d refused to see it. Maybe it would be fairer to say that he loved her, and she hadn’t been ready to see it. She’d been so busy trying to protect her own heart, she hadn’t seen that he’d been offering her his. 

—July 28, 2019—

“Poe’s been playing “Is There Somewhere” on fucking repeat. Honestly, thank god you didn’t let me hear it early. I can’t imagine what I would have done if I’d known two weeks ago that the song you wrote back in April was about dancing in hotel rooms and accidentally falling for someone when you were pretending to be in love.”

“But it doesn’t mean what I want it to mean, does it? Because I fucking love you, and you love fucking me”

“You know what? Fuck you very much for making fun of my teeth and my fucking earnest ‘this is right where it begins.’”

Oh, Ben. She wishes she could tell him how much she loves his crooked teeth, and his earnesty. And that when she thinks about the moments that became milestones, about where things began, no matter what, he’s a part of it — because he’s the one who taught her how quickly those moments will slip by if she doesn’t make a point of holding on to them.

—July 29, 2019—

When she gets to the messages from the day after she’d ask Ben about recording a breakup song, she’s not surprised to see he had a lot to say. She swallows back the lump in her throat and presses on.

“I told myself you were letting me down easy. I didn’t realize just how far down you were letting me, did I?”

“Talk about denial. I said I loved you and you pretended not to hear it. The plan was always to break up and you never breathed a word about changing the plan.” 

“I thought you loved fucking me Rey? But I guess since there are only 6 weeks in the next 6 months when we’ll both be in LA, I’m not worth the trouble anymore.”

Her heart is breaking for him all over again. How easily he’d blamed himself.

“Of course I’m not worth the trouble.”

No. The way he’d used his pain to wound himself further — if she could change anything, it would be this.

“You can record your own fucking breakup song.”

Despite herself, she laughs. Good for him.

—July 31, 2019—

“You keep texting me like everything is fine. I’m not fine.”

She hadn’t been fine either. But she’d felt him slipping away, and had been desperate to hold on.

—August 4, 2019—

“Call me a fucking coward but I was hoping to get away without seeing you. I could barely keep it together, could hardly even look at you. Fuck, you have no idea what it’s like”

But she does. She does.

“God, all I could think was, how would I act if my heart wasn’t breaking? What would I do if I didn’t want to burn the world to keep you? But I have no fucking clue. So I hugged you. What a fucking disaster. And even then, I couldn’t stop myself.”

“I don’t think you even noticed, but— I had to kiss you goodbye.”

She’d convinced herself she’d imagined his lips touching her hair. But it had been hard to process anything beyond the drumbeat of _Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you when it’s only been eight days and you haven’t even left me yet?_ And it had been so easy to talk herself out of so many things that had been right in front of her.

—August 6, 2019—

“My plane just landed in Heathrow. That first time I texted you to let you know I landed safely, you thought it was strange. How did I not hear what you were saying? I wanted to be wanted, and you wanted to be left alone.”

“When will I stop being a pathetic child, desperate for someone to miss me, when I know everyone’s happier with me gone?”

When she’d started reading, Rey had thought she wasn’t ready to be his friend, but reading this, she’d swallow down her own feelings in a heartbeat to be there for Ben. To be able to tell him how wrong he is. How often she thinks of him. How much happier she is with him there.

It’s agony to see this and realize he doesn’t know it. It’s worse, knowing that something happened between October and now, and whatever it is, it means that she’s the last person Ben wants to want him, even as a friend.

— August 9, 2019—

“They’re adding more dates to my tour. I won’t be back in time for the VMAs now, but I guess it doesn’t matter to you if I’m there or not, since I got to learn from fucking Twitter that we’re officially over?”

Rey had known, from their conversation at the AMAs, that he’d been angry. It still hurts to read it. She’d only done what she thought she had to, and she’d been cutting out her own heart to do it — but Ben hadn’t known that. 

Rey and Holdo talk a lot about how anger is easier to deal with than sadness. It’s the emotion she resorts to when the sadness seems too big to handle. She thinks that in Ben’s shoes, she would have been angry, too.

— August 17, 2019—

“I keep thinking, ‘How could you do this to me?’”

She’d never meant to hurt him. Would have done anything not to, in fact. But that didn’t stop him from being devastated by her. And knowing that — it’s so hard to not to blame herself, even though she’d been doing the best she could.

“I should be asking ‘How could I do this to myself?’”

He’s swinging between rage and self-loathing. It’s a cocktail of grief she’s all too familiar with.

—August 26, 2019—

“Did you know I actually asked Arnie if he’d talk to Bazine about what you were planning to wear to the VMAs so I could coordinate?”

She didn’t, actually.

“He laughed his ass off. Told me it was an award show, not prom, but I’m pretty sure he called your stylist anyway.”

That sounds like Arnie. Speaking of stylists, hers is going to kill her for not changing out of this one as soon as she got home, but she can’t stop reading now. She tugs at the boning that’s digging into her ribs and keeps reading.

“Joke’s on him, right? Because instead of standing next to you tonight, I’m on the other side of an ocean. Because no one trusts me to keep my shit together if we’re in the same room. Least of all me.”

She’d cried when her makeup artist played a Taylor Swift song and then she’d shut her feelings off with the vengeance of wrenching an annoyingly leaky faucet closed. Not the best coping mechanism, but at least it had made the night manageable for her. How hard must it have been for Ben to get through?

“The most pathetic part of it all is that even though I’m so angry at you, the thing I’d hate the most is if I ruined things for you.”

“Why do I still care?”

“I just want to stop caring.”

She’d felt that way for months — not hating him, but asking herself, again and again, why she still cared and begging the universe to make it stop. She hadn’t been seeing Dr. H yet, but it was the first thing she asked about when they met, and a big reason she thought her therapist was full of shit when she couldn’t answer the question. It took a long time for Rey to realize that Holdo thought it was a good thing that she cared about Ben, and even longer for Rey to start to agree with her, despite the pain. 

“I wish I could ask you how you manage it. Because you don’t care about a goddamn thing, do you, Rey?”

If only he’d known how wrong he was. If only she could tell him now. If only he’d want to hear it.

—August 30, 2019—

“I can’t go back to LA right now. I can’t see you. I’m so angry, Rey. You had to know. You had to know how I felt, and you pretended not to see so you could take exactly what you wanted anyway.”

He couldn’t be more wrong. Rey hadn’t known how he felt, and she certainly hadn’t taken exactly what she wanted, or else they never would have broken up — at least, if she had known then what she wanted and been brave enough to go after it. But Ben didn’t know that. She keeps reading.

—September 6, 2019—

“I just saw your interview and I don’t know what to think. I almost turned it off when you started spouting that PR bullshit. I can’t decide whether I’m glad I kept watching.” 

Rey doesn’t know if she’s glad he watched the Corden interview either. 

“I want to believe you meant what you said, if only because I couldn’t fucking stand it if it was a fucking publicity stunt. Christ. I need to think.”

Hours later. “I’ve lost count of how many times I rewatched it. You meant it, didn’t you?” 

With her whole heart. But after what she’s read tonight, Rey knows better than to assume that what she meant and what Ben heard were the same thing.

“When James asked if you were saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ you said no, but that is what you were saying, wasn’t it Rey? It’s what you were telling me from the beginning. And it’s not your fault I’ve always wanted love from people who didn’t have any to spare for me.”

Ben had said something like that to her in October. He’d somehow overlooked the part of the interview where she talked about how lucky his future partner was and apologized for going off-script; she’d thought the interview had made her feelings for him so obvious, but Ben hadn’t seen the truth. Perhaps he’d been scared to hope, the same way she had.

—September 8, 2019—

“I have to stop doing this. I need to let go of you.” 

“Fuck, I need to stop saying things like ‘I need to let go of you,’ when I never even had you.” 

It’s like he’s written down her own thoughts. How many times before that conversation at the AMAs had Rey told herself she shouldn’t be mourning the loss of something she’d never really had? In fact, most of his messages over the next month look like ones she could have written. It’s gutting to know Ben was torturing himself with the same cruel thoughts.

—October 6, 2019—

He’d written her the night of his confession at the AMA’s. “Tonight was…not great. You started talking about that interview and I couldn’t help myself. I told you everything I’d kept inside for so goddamn long. I don’t know how I was expecting you to react, but fuck, Rey, you looked terrified when I said I loved you. I don’t know if you bought my BS about being over it or not. By the end, it didn’t even seem like you cared.”

Terrified? She had realized that she’d hurt him when she’d ended things and had been agonizing over that, wondering if he could forgive her, desperate for another chance. Had he seen that doubt, that fear in her eyes? 

She certainly hadn’t doubted him when he told her he was over it, over her. She’d been entirely too absorbed in trying not to fall apart; she couldn’t think of anything but escaping. She hates that, in her pain, she unknowingly hurt him again. His next message only makes it worse.

“Why can’t I stop loving you?”

They’re only pixels on a screen, but her heart twinges in sympathy. She’s achingly familiar with the pain that drove him to ask that question. She’d asked herself the same thing, over and over again, and never found an answer. As she reads through the rest of his messages, she sees that for him, too, it had become a refrain without a resolution.

Finally, she reaches today’s messages. These are the ones she saw when she opened their conversation, and now she realizes how badly she misinterpreted them; a theme for them.

—January 26, 2020—

“We’re going to be in the same room in just a few hours, and I don’t know how I’ll stand it.”

“I want to be okay with it, but I’m not. I’m just not. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be.”

He’s written more since she started reading:

“I survived. I’m not okay without you, and I don’t think I ever will be, because I don’t think I really want to be. I know you don’t love me, but even if I had the choice, I can’t imagine letting go of my love for you.” 

She closes her eyes for a moment and realizes, then, that she’s crying again. 

_Eight days, eight days, it’s been eight days since I saw you, how am I going to survive without you_— but no. 

She _did_ survive. 

And so did he. 

She wipes her face and stands on trembling legs. She crosses to the hall, and though it’s only a handful of steps, her heart is racing as if she’s run a marathon.

Maybe it had to happen like this. Maybe they needed to be apart. 

She slips on trainers that do not remotely match the gown she’s wearing and grabs her car keys.

Another message comes through:

“Your dress made me think of the night sky, black with starlight sparkles. You’re my whole universe, Rey.”

She’s been running for so long — why would this be any different?

So she races down the hallway. Hits the lift button about twenty times. Realizes she’s shaking and tries to draw a calming breath, but it’s wasted, because the second the doors open, she’s tripping out of them towards her car.

She’s been running for so long — but this time, she’s running to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever left a comment asking what Ben was thinking: this one is for you. And no matter who you are — thanks for being here. It's meant the world to me to share this with you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love it if you left a comment here or said hi on Twitter; I'm [@elle_vee_reads](https://twitter.com/elle_vee_reads/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Edge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393240) by [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl)
  * [Ties That Bind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489021) by [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl)
  * [wherever we are, it feels like home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924597) by [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl)
  * [Cake and Kisses and Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969630) by [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl)
  * [hot flashes waking me up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119690) by [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl)


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